


these cold hands aching

by Calamitatum



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, I promise, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Canon, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamitatum/pseuds/Calamitatum
Summary: Isn’t there a saying about how doctors make the worst patients?Taako wonders if the same is true for detectives who become missing-person cases. Part of him bets if Angus were here right now, he’d be laughing at the incompetence of these so-called professionals.On a bright summer morning, the World’s Greatest Detective disappears without a trace.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tabula rasa  
> A better phrase there cannot be  
> Drained of all emotion, neither here nor there  
> Too weak to be sentient, self-aware  
> …  
> I long for the warmth of joy once again  
> These cold hands aching, happiness fluttering away in the wind.  
> Are you there? Am I here?  
> Oh, to once again feel fear  
> …  
> The blank slate  
> A better phrase there cannot be.
> 
> \- Blank Slate, Darin Bolvin

He sets out alone.

It’s a quiet morning in Neverwinter. A cool wind picks up as he walks, billowing down the wide city streets, but the sun is warm against his skin. A few familiar faces dot the streets and Angus smiles as he passes them. Birds chatter in the trees above, sweet smells wafting over from the bakeries now just opening shop for the day. The city is waking up.

Angus is starting a new case today. He’s been working on and off since the Day of Story and Song—just over two years ago now—but it’s quite these days. Small time stuff, mostly. Nothing like the old cases he used to have, the ones that felt like the fate of the world rested within them.

It’s been a while since he’s had anything too serious. In the last week, he did a stakeout for an overprotective mother who hired him to spy on her daughter’s new girlfriend, conducted a few interrogations for a rich councilwoman who claimed her house was broken in to, and worked on at least five cases of missing pets. It’s another pet today. A cat in the southern district.

It’s… boring, to be honest. Especially compared to what he’s used to.

It almost makes him miss it. The Bureau, the Relics.

He left the B.O.B. just after the Day of Story and Song. Once things had started to calm down, and everything was on track for the transition to the Bureau of Benevolence, he hadn’t really seen a point in his continued employment. So he handed in his bracer and started saying his goodbyes.

He hadn’t planned on going to Neverwinter at first. Too many memories, after everything. But he hadn’t really had anywhere else to go, and when Lucas offered him a full scholarship to the Academy of Arcane Sciences, it had seemed stupid not to accept.

And there was also. Well.

There was also Taako.

Taako bought a house with the reaper he was seeing as soon as the rebuilding efforts were over. He complained _endlessly_ about the insurance rates, but he seemed so _happy._ It was a beautiful home – a three-story villa, right in the middle of the northern district. A little gaudy and over the top, but perfect _._ Quintessentially _Taako._

And then he invited Angus to come live with him.

It had taken the better part of a month for Angus to actually unpack his things, to stop being on guard, to let himself belief it wasn’t all some big goof. But it wasn’t. Taako actually _wanted_ him.

Taako bought him things. New clothes, furniture, bedding _– whatever_ he wanted to furnish his room with, though Angus was still far to shy to ask for anything more than the essentials. He continued his magic lessons with Taako. With Kravitz, he took up music. Taako cooked. Kravitz taught him card games. Lup and Barry came over almost every night. Barry asked him about his school work, Lup challenged him to mock duels in the backyard.

They _spent time_ together. Like an actual family. And that alone was almost more than Angus could ever say of his own family.

And then the first year bled into the second.

Lup and Barry stopped coming over as often. His magic lessons dwindled. The piano grew dusty from disuse. Kravitz seemed to be working all the time, and Taako had started to take up touring again.

Still, they spent time together, whenever they could. And it was _still_ more than his old family ever had.

Angus was grateful. He _is_ grateful. Truly, from the bottom of her heart. It’s more than he ever thought he would have. And when Taako is gone for weeks on end, or Kravitz is called away by the Raven Queen for nights at a time, he reminds himself of that gratitude.

He knew his family had a busy schedule, and that it wasn’t their fault. So he planned to make time for _them_ , instead of waiting around for the opposite to happen.

At the beginning of the summer, Lucas offered him an internship at the Academy, working as a researcher and writer for the Department of Planar Studies. It was a fantastic opportunity. It would look great on a resume, and it even _paid_ well. But he declined it. He had a plan already. He wanted to be home for the summer. He wanted to spend more time with his family.

And then Taako had left on his latest tour.

It’s been two weeks now. He hasn’t been home. He won’t be. Not until the end of August.

Lup and Barry still come around every now and then, but never for more than a few hours. Angus tries not to begrudge them; he knows they must be working a lot. Kravitz, too. The reaper wasn’t home last night, or the night before. It’s not unusual, Angus knows, to have long hours in his particular line of work. Reaping isn’t exactly something he can just take a break from.

Still.

It’s a little… lonely. Sometimes.

But as his grandpa would say, that’s no reason to sit around and mope! And just because he’s too embarrassed to go back to Lucas and ask for the internship, doesn’t mean he can’t at least do _something_ productive this summer.

And so, with that resolve, Angus decided to take back up the old magnifying glass, metaphorically speaking, and spend his summer focusing on detective work.

He does his work now under the alias _Caleb Kravitz._ He’s tried to avoid giving out his real name. He wasn’t in much of what the Voidfish broadcasted out in the Story, but he knows the McDonald name is still enough to raise a few eyebrows. Better to keep that under wraps.

He’s just left the Neverwinter Market, now crossing the river that splits the city into its northern and southern districts. As he walks, he takes the small notebook— _Mystery Book: Volume 8_ —out of his breast pocket to double-check the address.

In a few minutes, he’s there. He climbs the stoop of a small townhouse and knocks.

An older woman answers the door. She’s plump, likely in her late sixties, wearing slippers and a messy apron. Millie Hillwater – the same person who called him last night. They trade a few pleasant introductions before Angus gets to work questioning her.

“Can you tell me what Mr. Fluff looks like, ma’am?” he asks.

“He’s long-haired. A Fantasy Persian,” she tells him. “Sheds like a nightmare!”

“Fur and eye colour?” Angus prompts.

“Oh yes! Gray and green, my handsome little man.”

Angus jots a quick note in his book. “And you last saw him on Friday?”

“That’s right.”

“Does he normally go outside?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s quite skittish. The poor thing, he must be so scared.” She presses a hand to her heart, then laughs a little. “And hungry! Oh, he eats like you wouldn’t believe!”

He hums sympathetically. “Right. And have you asked any of the neighbours if they’ve seen him around?”

“I have,” she says. “But no one’s seen him! I’d go out looking for him myself but I’m afraid I’m not as spry as I was in my younger days.” She pats her hip and grimaces.

Angus smiles.

“No worries, ma’am. That’s what I’m here for!”

He snaps the book closed and tucks it away, taking his leave with a quick promise to be back in no more than an hour.

He does a quick sweep of the neighbourhood, but doesn’t go far. Unlike dogs, cats don’t run when they’re scared, but usually find a quiet place to hide. Creatures of habit never venture too far from home.

He makes his way into the public garden at the end of the street. There are a few people inside working on their plots, eager to be done before the hot noon-day sun. They raise some eyebrows looks when they see him snooping around, but no one approaches him. There’s only one person who isn’t working—an older man, sitting on a bench—but he offers a friendly smile when Angus passes.

There’s a toolshed near the back gate. Angus looks, but there’s nothing inside but some broken panelling and rusted old equipment. He checks around the back too, then, on his hands and knees, peers under the steps and, finally, the space beneath the porch.

From the darkness, two bright green eyes stare back.

 

* * *

 

He makes it back to Mrs. Hillwater’s under the hour as promised, sporting muddied knees, several red scratches on his arms, and one _very_ displeased Mr. Fluff.

Mrs. Hillwater shouts with delight. She takes Mr. Fluff from his hands and deposits him safely inside, where he immediately goes running off further into the house. Amidst heartfelt, teary-eyed thanks, she tries to give him a few gold pieces “for his troubles,” but Angus politely declines.

“No need, ma’am. I’m just happy to help!”

She tuts but retracts the offered coins.

“Well, then at least let me invite you and your grandfather in for some cookies. They’re fresh from the oven! You must be hungry after all that hard work!”

Angus blinks.

“My – My grandfather?”

“The older gentleman?” She glances behind him. “I assumed he was with you, dear. He came and left with you.”

Angus carefully tilts his head and glances over his shoulder.

A man in white robes loiters at the end of the street, watching them. 

It’s the same man from the garden.

“Oh, um. Hmm.” He turns his gaze pointedly back to Mrs. Hillwater. “No, that’s – That’s alright, ma’am. But thank you very much for the offer.”

“Are you sure? I feel terrible not giving you anything in return for your work.”

He nods. “Very sure. I should be off now.” He taps the Stone of Far Speech around his neck. “Please call again if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

They say their goodbyes and Angus starts off back down the street at a casual pace. He takes out his notebook and flips to today’s date, writes _Solved!_ beside the Mystery of Mr. Fluff the Missing Cat.

And as he turns the street, without looking up, he sees the man from the corner of his eye. Following.

He tucks the notebook away. He takes the first left, then the next, then goes straight for a long time before taking a third.

The man follows.

His heart begins to quicken, but he keeps his pace casual. It’s nearing 9AM now; most streets are still quiet. He heads toward the market, where he knows it’ll be busier.

He looks back every few dozen steps. The man is a little bit closer every time.

In the market, he instantly feels better. These streets are more familiar. Even at this hour, its all gleaming shop windows and bright displays, loud voices and enticing smells. It’s easy to duck beneath the taller crowds and twist through the stalls, and after a few minutes, he seems to lose the old man.

He lets himself relax. In his pocket, his hand loosens where it had been gripped tight around his wand.

He rounds the corner, and freezes in place.

The man is there.

Right in front of a café Angus visits almost every day.

He steps forward.

“Hello, Caleb.”

Angus blinks.

“Hello,” he says, and his voice is politer and _infinitely_ calmer than he feels. He swallows, steeling his nerves. “Is there a reason you’ve been following me?”

And something strange happens.

The man… grimaces. Ducks and rubs at his head.

Embarrassment _,_ Angus’s mind supplies, decoding body language like second nature. He’s nervous. A little guilty.  

“Yes, actually,” the man says. “I – Well, first I should – I mean. I’m sorry about that. The following. I just, you see -”

Angus doesn’t see. Following a kid is _creepy_ , now matter how you look at it. But he waits.

“I have a job for you, Caleb,” the man finally manages. “And I needed to make sure you were right. For the job. It’s –  It’s very important,” he explains.

Angus looks him over again. He doesn’t _seem_ threatening. His eyes wide and earnest, and –

And _stunning_ – vibrant against his pale robes. Brilliant, multicoloured swirling flecks of light, reflecting every colour imaginable.

Angus keeps his face neutral. “I’d be happy to help, sir. Would you like to take a seat inside and we can discuss the job?”

The man looks around, as if only just noticing where they are. “Actually, I – I think it would be best to go somewhere more private. It’s _very_ important.”

Angus hums and rocks back on his heels. “I’m afraid I insist on staying here. I am a twelve-year-old boy, you see, and you _are_  a stranger who’s been following me across town.”

The man winces and wrings his hands. A nervous habit. “You’re – geez. You’re totally right. Totally right. That does seem a little weird. A lot weird. Sorry.”

Angus shakes his head. “That’s alright.” He takes a deep breath, easing the last of the tension in his shoulders, and gestures to the door. “Shall we?”

They walk into Meryl and Sheryl’s Coffee and Tea together. Angus gets his usual: a small hot cocoa. The man orders a chamomile tea. Soothing, good for the nerves. A good choice, Angus thinks.

They sit across from each other at a small booth in the back of the café, and the man finally introduces himself with the name Asaph.

Angus takes a long drink of cocoa, then sets it down and opens a new page in his notebook, pen poised to write.

“What can you tell me about this job, sir?”

Asaph sips his tea. “Not much, I’m afraid. At least, not here.”

“Let’s start with the basics.”

“I’m looking for someone,” Asaph begins. “Someone very close to me. They need my help.”

“Are they in trouble?” he asks.

Asaph hums thoughtfully, settling back in his seat. He seems much calmer than before. “They’re not in any danger, if that’s what you’re asking. But they’re alone. They’ve been abandoned. And I want to help them. The problem is…” Iridescent eyes fix him with a long stare. “They won’t accept my help if I offer it outright.”

Angus’s pen wavers. He hasn’t written anything yet. He’s waiting for more details, but Asaph is only watching him now.

“So… you want to help them in secret?” he guesses.

“I’d rather convince them to accept my help.”

Angus narrows his eyes. Asaph is suddenly _much_ harder to read. “Can you be a little more specific, sir?”

“I’m afraid not, Caleb. Not here.”

“Okay…” He clears his throat, deciding to try a new angle. “This person, are they family?”

“Of sorts,” Asaph says.

“And you say you’re close to them?”

“I am,” Asaph says. But there’s something in his voice…

Angus bites his lip. “Are _they_ close to _you_?”

Asaph smiles behind a sip of tea. “Not yet, unfortunately.”

“Oookay,” Angus says. He stares down at the page, still blank, thoughts whirring. Asaph is being purposely cryptic, that’s for sure. Is he afraid they’re being listen to? Or maybe he’s speaking in code?

He’s cycling through other possible questions when Asaph’s voice interrupts.

“Do you think - Could we… arrange another time to meet?”

He's wringing his hands again – another abrupt change of temperament. “Maybe… your house? A-As long as that wouldn’t be weird or anything?” He smiles, every bit as sheepish as he was minutes ago.

Angus wavers. He doesn’t usually like to invite clients into Taako’s home, but it _really_ doesn’t seem like Asaph is going to reveal much unless they’re in private.

“Alright,” he says at length, finger tapping the pen. “I think that could work.”

Asaph sighs, relieved, already standing. “ _Thank you_ , Angus.”

His hand stills.

He closes the book, but doesn’t stand. He takes a slow drink of cocoa. Puts it down. Bites his lip. Drums his fingers once against the table, thinking.

Asaph begins to clear away their dishes. Angus lets him, and when his back is turned, quietly slide his notebook onto the seat behind him.

 He stands.

Asaph smiles, and Angus _sees_ it now. The way kindness and warmth are plastered across him, the way he makes himself seem small and unassuming, the way his body language reads, _Trust me._

He even parrots Angus’s earlier words back to him: “Shall we?”

Outside, they make it not twenty feet down the road before Angus slips his wand from his pocket.

“I want to thank you in advance,” Asaph is saying as Angus slows and levels his wand.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Asaph freezes.

Angus can’t read his expression from behind, and he doesn’t even bother looking at his body language to see if he’s surprised. Asaph is too good a liar.

Still, when he turns, Angus doesn’t expect him to be _smiling._

“Angus, my _clever_ boy. We were so _hoping_ you would catch on.” There’s an echo to his voice, a strange, almost _layered_ quality to it.

Angus’s aim is steady. “Answer my question.”

“We haven’t been lying,” Asaph says. “We truly _do_ need your help. And you, my sweet child, need ours.”

“How do you know my real name?”

Asaph steps forward. “We know _everything_ about you, Angus. We’ve been watching you for a _long_ time.”

His wand wavers, almost imperceptibly. He feels himself take a single step back.

“What do –”

From the air, Asaph produces a wand.

Angus opens his mouth—to shout, to cast a spell, _anything_ —but Asaph is too fast. He darts forward, wand pointed, prismatic eyes flashing.

“Sleep.”

Those eyes are the last thing he sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asaph is Hebrew for "he who collects" let's hear some guesses for motive


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter was so lovely! Thank you all!  
> Side note: I had a midterm today that I almost missed because I was editing this chapter

Angus has just turned eleven.

He’s sitting at a table in a brand-new kitchen in a brand-new home with a brand-new family. He swings his legs and scoots to the front of the seat – his socks still barely scuff the floor. Everything is shiny and new, up to and including the glasses perched on the end of his nose.

His old ones got broken on the Day of Story and Song by a Hunger-thralled gerblin. It wasn’t until a few days later that Taako noticed the tape holding the frame together. He’d snatched them off his nose and burnt them to a crisp right then and there.

He’d taken Angus to the nearest shop and steered him straight for a case filled with unbreakable, enchanted lenses, artistic, gold-encrusted frames, and price tags that made his head spin. Taako offered to get him one for every day of the week, but Angus—“ _Is this a goof, sir?_ ”—instead bashfully accepted a single pair, almost identical to his last but for a much-appreciated enchantment against smudges on the glass.

Now, two weeks later, Angus sits at the table and adjusts his new glasses with a focused expression. Lup—whose first ever words to him were an apology for destroying his macarons—and Kravitz—who he doesn’t yet know well enough to be entirely comfortable with, but who he will soon grow to love— are explaining the rules to Fantasy King’s Corner. Barry watches from over Lup’s shoulder, and Taako—who tried at first to kick them out—has now resigned himself to the fate of a crowded kitchen, and is moving deftly about, fiercely ignoring them. The warm, smoky air of – of _whatever_ ridiculously extravagant meal Taako is whipping up is a heavenly distraction, but Angus glues his eyes to the display before him, grip tight on his cards.

He and Kravitz play a round. His turns are slow and clumsy – his strategy all but non-existent. He repeatedly makes Kravitz cover his eyes so he can show his cards to Barry and ask for help on his next move. Barry is infinitely patient, whispering each step in detail. Kravitz can barely conceal a fond smile, even as Lup provides some of the most intense play-by-play sports announcing he’s ever heard. She uses phrases like, “newcomer on the cards scene, Angus McDonald” and, “the scrappy underdog” and, “Angus McDonald, the young challenger, not to be underestimated.” Twice, she calls Kravitz “past his prime.”

It’s surprisingly hard. But it’s not a test – just a game. Here, he’s not Angus McDonald, model son, or Angus McDonald, World’s Greatest Detective, or even Angus McDonald, Seeker for the Bureau of Balance.

He’s just Angus. The scrappy underdog.

His feet tap together beneath the chair. He rests his elbows on the table. He smiles, and when the others laugh at Lup’s rather more profane descriptions of Kravitz, he does too.

The game ends, and it’s a _resounding_ defeat. The others applaud, and Angus, bolstered, gives a small bow. Everyone laughs, and his toes curl in delight.

At last, Taako walks over with a dour expression to examine the carnage. His hands smell like garlic and pepper when he clasps them onto Angus’s shoulders.

“You’ll get ‘em next time, kiddo,” he says, and –

And Angus feels a bitter twist in his stomach.

Because there is no next time.

Because they never play this game again.

Because the cards get stained from the sauce on the table, and they get crumpled later on the living room floor, and somewhere in between they lose a few spades and you can’t play with like half a deck pumpkin and Kravitz probably won’t be back until later we can play another time okay I don’t know he doesn’t exactly have a nine-to-five schedule alright go ask Barry to play with you I’m a little busy right –

No.

No. That’s not right. That’s not how it goes.

That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

He doesn’t know that yet. He doesn’t think that yet. That part’s not until later. This is – This is a happy memory. This is delicious smells and warm laughs and a new home and a new family and –

This is supposed to be a happy memory.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s late. So late that Angus has lost track of the time. The train rattles around him, the movement jostling, but he’s cushioned with his head on Magnus’s shoulder, strong arms keeping him upright.

They’re on their way back from City Hall, where the despite the late hour, music and dancing and fireworks had lit the streets brighter than a summer day. Neverwinter celebrated the first anniversary of the Day of Story and Song with both a historic jubilance and no small amount of mourning.

Angus for his part had managed to keep it together nearly the whole time, right up until the moment of silence at midnight. As the night crossed over into morning, the entire world had seemed to fall into a hush.

Angus doesn’t—and won’t yet for a long time—have the words to describe the power of that moment, the divine, _exhausting_ sense of loss, and empathy, and _love_ he felt for every single one of the thousands of people standing with him – for what they’d all lived through, what they’d all seen and heard, a year ago in the very streets in which they stood. It had all come flooding back in a tidal wave that hit when, after a minute of complete silence, the first strings of Johann’s song overtook the air.

By the time they’re all on the train a few hours later, enough tears and drinks have been spilled that the whole city seems to have fallen into a sort of quiet contemplation. Even Taako doesn’t make his usual quip about taking _public transportation_ like a _plebeian._

The train car is packed with people all stumbling home, their arms tight around their loved ones, their voices hushed. It’s so crowded that when they board, Angus nearly loses sight of his family, but he’s saved when a strong pair of arms pull him up and onto a familiar lap.

For a moment, Angus is embarrassed. He’s _way_ to old for this. If _mother_ saw –

But Magnus’s eyes are as red as Angus’s feel, and his smile is as warm as it’s ever been, and the shield he makes between Angus and the world is so comforting that Angus lets himself get wrapped in it without protest. He fists his hands into Magnus’s coat, closes his eyes against the tears that haven’t stopped since Johann’s song, and breathes in Magnus’s familiar scent.

And it’s –

It’s the last time. It’s the last time he ever gets held like this. Because he was right, he _is_ too old for this. And when the moment passes, they’ll realize it.

They’ll walk from the station back to the house in silence, and Magnus will bury his hands in his coat pockets, and Angus will wrap his arms around himself against the chill and the slow drizzle that will begin. He’ll walk alone, always two steps behind the crowd, Taako and Kravitz ahead, unburdened by him. Exhausted, everyone will collapse into their beds without saying goodnight.

And just like that, the moment will pass.

The intimacy of the night—of that fragile moment of silence—will fade, until all those who had been apart of it become strangers again, busy and faceless on the backdrop of Angus’s own busy, faceless life. The warmth and comfort of the train ride will be leeched away into the cold sheets of his bed as he lies awake later that night. And when he finally does fall asleep, he’ll dream of a still, starless sky, and giant columns of darkness crashing down around him, choking out the world.

His ears are ringing. His chest aches.

This isn’t right.

That’s not how it went. That’s not how it felt.

This isn’t right.

 

* * *

 

 

A year earlier.

Angus is sitting on a curb outside the ruined husk of Meryl and Sheryl’s Coffee and Tea, a throbbing between his eyes where a gerblin got in a good hit before he could duck out of the way, and static in his ears that seems to be muting out whatever Miss Killian is saying.

“What?” Angus says, and _what_ is rude, you should never say _what_ Angus, it’s _pardon me_ , use your _manners_ young man –

“Are you okay?” Killian kneels in front of him, rubbing his arms, which are wrapped tight around his knees. In one fist he holds his glasses, snapped clean in half. The other is white-knuckled around his wand. He hasn’t let go since the fighting stopped.

“Pardon me?” Angus says. His mouth is dry. It tastes like blood.

“Are you okay? That bastard got you pretty good, huh?” She frowns, brow knitting together. A single tooth pokes out over her bottom lip.

“Yeah.” And that _voice_ in his head says – “ _Yes_ ,” he chokes, more forcefully.

“You sure?” Killian pulls back, and she doesn’t reach for his face, doesn’t reach for the blood beading from the cut between his eyes, but for just a _second_ he thinks she _might_ –

“Whoa, whoa!” Killian’s voice is suddenly louder. “It’s okay, Angus. Angus. Look at me.”

He opens his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Killian says, and leans in again. “It’s okay. Everyone gets a little jumpy after their first big fight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Angus says.

The voice is quiet.

Killian smiles, and the little tooth pokes out again. He focuses on it.

“It’s gonna be okay, Angus. It’s over now. They’re _gone._ We _won._ ”

“Yeah,” he says again, because he’s allowed.

This one’s not a happy memory. Not really.

The ruined café they’re sitting in front of was one of his favourite places. When grandpa was still healthy, they used to visit it together every time Angus came to visit. They’d order the same hot cocoa and sit in the same booth, and when grandpa started to get worse, sometimes they’d even have the same conversation.

The shop is decimated when the Hunger invades. The owners have to rebuild from the ground up. It takes almost a year to open again, and several weeks more for Angus to build up the courage to walk inside. The layout is different now. The booth is gone.

Grandpa’s gone too.

The cocoa, though. The cocoa’s still the same.

Angus eventually starts going more often. It’s lonely without grandpa, but overtime, the ache fades. The owners learn to recognize his face, then his name. Sometimes they chat, sometimes they sneak him free biscuits.

He drinks his cocoa. He stands by the window, where grandpa’s booth used to be. And sometimes he smiles and sometimes he doesn’t.

This one’s not a happy memory. Not really.

This one doesn’t change.

 

* * *

 

Another moment.

Sitting at the dunk pond outside Rockport Station, waiting for the train to take him to see grandpa.

He’s six years old, on his hands and knees, nails scraping the dirt to pick out the little bits of corn someone forgot. He’s already got a little pile and the ducks must see ‘cause they start swimming over. Angus scopes up his pile and rushes to the edge of the pond, but not too fast ‘cause he doesn’t wanna scare them. He throws some of the corn but it’s not a good throw so it only goes a little bit. He must have been too fast and scared the ducks after all ‘cause they don’t come any closer, so the corn just floats where it is.

“Angus.”

Mama’s voice, from behind.

In his memory, she takes the corn from his hand. She gives him a conspiratorial wink, and begins to toss out a trail, leading the ducks in closer and closer until they’re almost close enough to touch.

In his memory, Angus shows her the bench he found the corn beneath, and together they scrape out all the pieces he missed. And Angus, delighted, feeds the ducks some more while Mama watches for the train.

In his memory, it’s the first and only time Angus ever sees his mother with dirt under her nails.

In _this_ memory, her nails stay clean.

In this memory, there’s static behind his eyes. 

“Angus,” his mother says, and her voice is sharper. Louder. The ducks startle. She slaps the corn from his hand. Use your _manners,_ young man.

The moment freezes.

That isn’t right.

“What?” Angus says, in voice that isn’t yet his. “What’s happening?”

 

* * *

 

Angus stands at a window in the Bureau of Balance headquarters and breathes in measured, even counts. He keeps his eyes moving, gaze steady as it scans back and forth across the scene before him, making sure not to miss anything.

The Director stands behind him, Davenport to his left. On the other side of the glass, a metal sphere lifts into the air of the chamber and is pierced with a thousand beams of blinding light. A few moments later, the light fades, and the door in front of Davenport slides open.

Angus forces himself not to hold his breath, not to clench his fists. And when Davenport emerges from the chamber, empty sphere in hand, he keeps his pace casual as he moves to meet him.

“Here,” he offers. An open palm and a quirk of his lips, and Davenport hands him the sphere with a grateful nod.

Angus lifts the ball back atop the rolling pedestal that was just a little too high for Davenport to reach comfortably, giving it a subtle spin.

When he releases it, his hands are shaking.

The chalk star he drew is gone.

It’s a different sphere.

It's a different sphere than the one that went into the chamber.

The dread hits so heavy and sudden it nearly makes him sick. His stomach twists. His eyes sting.

A million thoughts at once, all screaming for attention.

She _lied_ to him. She’s been lying to him this _whole time._ She’s been _using_ him.

And – How could he have been so _stupid?_

And – He let her _erase_ him.

And – _What’s she doing with them, if she’s not destroying them? Is she planning to use them? Why? What will happen if she gets them all? Will there be any way to stop her? Who else knows?_

Who else knows?

Does Taako know? Does Magnus? Does Merle?

Can he tell them? Can he _trust_ them?

Is he alone?

 

* * *

 

More snapshots now, each faster than the last.

Seven years old, Candlenights Eve. The first time his father ever hits him.

His mother with wide eyes and a hand clasped tight over her mouth.

The conversation freezes, a startled hush across the table. Then, after a few seconds, it picks back up again.

No one mentions the bruise blossoming across his cheek.

The static in his head grows louder.

 

* * *

 

In the lounge with grandpa, his voice low and stern over the Stone.

“You let him ride the train _alone_ , Teresa? He’s only seven!”

And Angus’s own voice, quiet and startled.

“I’m nine and a half.”

He’s already been riding alone for years.

And louder.

 

* * *

 

Later that same night, grandpa getting lost on the way to the shop, Angus having to take his hand and lead the way. Grandpa inside, staring at the shelves like doesn’t know why they’re here.

And the worst part. The walk home. The way grandpa’s dull eyes turn to him.

“Excuse me, young man. Do you need help? Are you alone?”

And louder.

 

Is he alone?

 

* * *

 

In the Voidfish’s chamber, breath hitching with soft sobs. The Director’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. They watch while the Voidfish consumes the story of his life, written in Caleb Cleveland novel-like detail and the messy but careful scrawl of a ten-year-old.

They watch while the Voidfish accelerates the process of grandpa forgetting him. Of everyone forgetting him. And the Director kneels down beside him and pulls him into a hug, stilling his hands when he wipes furtively at his cheeks.

“It’s alright to cry,” she says.

But –

She _lied_ to him. She’s been lying to him this _whole time_. She’s been _using_ him.

Wait –

How could he have been so _stupid?_

That’s not –

He let her _erase_ him.

He doesn’t think that yet. This isn’t –

 

* * *

 

Angus’s hand plunges into ice-cold water.

Taako stands over him, voice loud in his ear—“ _Fuck,_ Angus, don’t just waltz in here and start grabbing shit when I’m _working_ ”—with a vice-like grip on his wrist, pinning it under the tap.

Kravitz is somewhere behind them, his worried voice lost in the rushing water and roaring static.

He can’t feel his hand anymore. The numbness is beginning to spread up his arm. He tries to pull it out of the water but Taako keeps him restrained.

The weight of the paper in his pocket feels rock-heavy. He’d been _so excited_ to show them the internship offer from Lucas. He had it all planned out.

 _What do you think?_ he would ask. _Should I take it?_

And they would be _proud_. They’d say something like, _Of course you should, idiot!_ and, _Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been hoping for?_

But Angus has already made his decision to defer. Next year, he told Lucas. He’d take it next year. But he wanted to spend this summer with his family.

Now the paper stays where it is, carefully folded in his pocket, and the words he’s been planning to say dry up on his tongue. It was a stupid idea anyway. It was childish, it was selfish. They’re busy – he can’t just expect them to be around whenever he wants. Kravitz has work. Taako’s going on tour again. And it’s not like Angus can go with him.

He’d be useless in a kitchen. He’d only get in the way.

He’d only end up burned.

The numbness is spreading – it’s starting to hurt. He tries again to pull away.

“Sir,” he says. He can hardly hear himself over all the noise. He thinks Taako is still talking, still yelling at him.

“Sir.”

Taako doesn’t let go.

“Sir, you’re hurting me.”

In his memory, Taako snatches his hand away like he’s the one burned. In his memory, Taako’s mouth snaps shut, his expression pinches, brows together, lips tight. Distress, Angus’s mind supplies. Guilt.

In his memory, Taako says, “Oh _god,_ Angus, I’m so –”

In this memory, Taako says nothing at all.

In this memory, Taako keeps him pinned under the flow, nails digging in to his skin. And it _hurts._

“Stop,” he gasps. “Let me go.”

Taako’s expression is dark. Sharp.

_Cruel._

This isn’t real.

Angus pulls his hand back with surprising ease. He looks around. The kitchen is perfect. Exactly as he remembers it. It’s a good illusion.  But –

But Taako was never cruel.

He flexes his fingers.

It isn’t real. It doesn’t hurt.

He looks at Kravitz, still frozen in place. Then at Taako, who’s watching him with bright, opalescent eyes.

“This isn’t real,” he says. “You’re not real. You’re not Taako.”

Like a snapped thread, the illusion collapses.

Asaph smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

A clock ticks in an otherwise quiet home in Neverwinter.

Hours pass, drifting into night, then morning again. The hands tick, rhythmic and precise – the only sound or movement in the entire house. They’ve just hit 10:36, when suddenly and without warning, the silence is pierced by the swipe of a blade.

A tear rips itself open across the air, warping space and flickering with the shadows of the Astral Plane.

A skeletal figure steps through. His scythe vanishes into smoke, the tear behind him already swallowing itself up as his reaper form melts away. It's probably all rather impressive. Until he sheds the feathered cloak, revealing the sweatpants beneath.

“Uuggh,” Kravitz says loudly and at nothing in particular. It’s Monday on the Prime Material Plane – he’s been working for nearly 48 hours straight.

“Uuuuuck,” he says again, for emphasis.

It’s nowhere near the longest the Raven Queen has ever kept him, but the hours tend to feel longer than they used to. He’s always eager to be home when he knows someone’s waiting for him. He’s not sure if he’s just getting old or sentimental.

He rubs at his eyes, the exhaustion already beginning to settle into his bones. Like Taako, he doesn’t exactly _need_ sleep, but the occasional nap can still do wonders for his mood, on days when he allows himself the time for one.

Today might be one of those days. Necromantic cults are a _real_ pain in the ass.

The house is already warm despite the early hour – it’s going to be one of those real hot days, he can tell. A window in the parlour is open, fresh air drifting in with the sounds of movement from the street below.

Kravitz drags himself to the kitchen, spotting a few dishes from what looks like a hastily-made breakfast piled in the sink. He rummages through the cupboards, looking for ideas for lunch. Eating, like sleeping, isn’t necessarily something he requires, but it’s a luxury he’s rewarding himself after his hard work. Plus, Angus might be in the mood for an early lunch.

The thought sends him down the hall. Angus’s door is closed, and when he knocks, there’s no answer. He peeks inside anyway, but isn’t surprised to find a neatly-made bed with the lights off.

Most twelve-year-olds would probably spend their summers happily sleeping in past noon, but for as long as Kravitz has known him, Angus has never been one to waste the day. He’s as energetic as he is meticulous. One particularly adorable day after they’d all just moved in together, Angus had accidentally slept until _9AM_ , only to come bursting out of his room, pajamas and all, over-flowing with apologies.

Kravitz closes the door and makes his way back to the kitchen. The last they’d spoken, Angus had shyly mentioned taking up a few new cases over the summer. Wherever he is, he’ll probably be home soon.

It had surprised him to first learn that Angus had picked up such a dangerous hobby at such a young age, but Taako had always assured him Angus knew what he was doing. He’s older now, better armed and trained with magic, and only working within the city limits, so Kravitz tries not to worry too much. All the self-help books he secretly reads whenever Taako meditates say parents should “support their children developing private lives and personal hobbies.”

He makes a turkey sandwich for lunch. Taako would probably laugh to see it, but Kravitz enjoys it nonetheless. He leaves everything out in case Angus comes home, only stashing them away after an hour when the lettuce starts to brown.

He showers. Swaps his sweatpants for some cleaner clothes. Makes his way around the house and waters all the plants. He takes that nap he wanted, and wakes hours later. The house is still empty.

He calls Angus, but doesn’t get a response.

He reads a little. Plays some Fantasy Solitaire with an old deck of cards. Does the dishes.

He calls again.

Nothing.

Hmm.

He wanders around the house, a little bored. A little restless. He cooks a dinner for two and keeps Angus’s plate warm in the oven. He ties calling again.

By the third time it goes unanswered, his foot won’t stop tapping. It’s getting late. The books said to respect privacy and distance, but. It’s getting late.

He calls Lup instead.

The Stone only rings once before she answers. There’s wind rushing in the background – she sounds breathless. “What’s up?”

He keeps his voice carefully neutral – he has a habit of slipping into his work accent when he’s stressed.

“Are you working?”

“Yeah, why?” More wind. She must be flying.

“Is Barry home right now?”

“What? Hang on!” A loud noise. Was that a crash? “Sorry,” she says, louder now. “What was that?”

“Is Barry home?”

“Nah, he’s also working. Why?”

“Hmm.” There’s a weight growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Why?” she repeats.

He starts pacing, just to give himself something to do. “Was – Was Angus at your place today?”

“Wouldn’t know. Wasn’t there all day.” The wind stops. Lup is breathing hard. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think so. I just. Haven’t seen him all day.”

“Have you called him?”

“Mm,” he says. He twists a dreadlock between his fingers. “Three times.”

There’s a long pause.

“Krav –”

“Sorry, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “You’re working. I’ll – I’ll let you get back to it. I’ll try calling him again. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“ _Krav."_

“I’m sure it’s nothing." He hangs up before she can say anything else.

His pacing brings him to the parlour, to the window that’s still open. Outside, the streets are quieting, the air growing colder.

The sun is setting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it clear I'm playing very fast and loose with the rules of DnD here, so like if the magic in this story doesn't make sense / wouldn't work in the game I'm sorry y'all

When Angus wakes, the space behind his eyes is blissfully devoid of static.

He drifts for a long time, like some distant part of him is knows what’s coming and wants to put it off. He picks at the threads of memories emotions, tangled and distant, eyes flickering beneath closed lids as he tries to piece together the last thing he remembers. The last real thing anyway.

He’s in what feels like a bed, weighed down beneath heavy blankets. He keeps his eyes closed and breaths even, ears strained for voices or the sounds of movement. But wherever he is, it’s silent.

He cracks one eye open, then the other. The ceiling above him is dark and unfamiliar. Carefully, he shifts onto his elbows.

He’s in a dim room with tall, shuttered windows. Thin beams of sunlight pierce the wood, spilling across the floor and illuminating swirls of dust in the air. It almost looks like some sort of mix between a bedroom and a storage closet. The space around the bed is clear, but each wall is stacked high with shelves, overstuffed boxes, crates, and trunks. A dusty fireplace in the corner is barricaded behind a towering pile, a wardrobe next to it is almost bursting, its drawers overflowing with clothes. He’s never seen anything like it.

Angus throws back covers and looks down at himself. He’s in the same clothes he wore when Asaph—if that’s really his name—attacked him.

_Shit._

Thinking those words is like a punch to the stomach. It makes it real. Suddenly, he feels nauseous. The room grows darker, crowded and threatening in a way it wasn’t just moments ago.

He breathes. Grips the sheets.

Someone attacked him. Someone attacked him and brought him here, and he doesn’t even know where _here_ is, or how long it’s been, or _why –_

His breath comes out ragged. His pulse drums in his ear.

_Detective work._

The thought is like a lifeline surfacing from a cold sea. He grasps it desperately.

It’s just detective work. This is a mystery, right?

So. Solve it.

He pinches himself. Waits until the skin turns angry and red. Lets out one last rattling breath.

Then he gets to work.

Those dreams were… memories? And Asaph was _there,_ somehow. Angus could _feel_ him, rifling through the memories, changing them, muting some and bleeding others together, all masked beneath that strange static. It was _almost_ like the Voidfish, back before Angus had been inaugurated, when thinking too hard left his stomach unsettled and his mind eerily blank. It must have been some sort of divination magic, but Angus had never heard of any spell that could do something like that. It would have to be incredibly powerful.

But _why?_

Angus shoves that train of thought back down for now. Motive is complicated. Focus on the facts first. Look for details.

He looks at himself. He doesn’t appear to be hurt, but his mouth is dry, his limbs stiff and heavy. He suspects he’s been asleep for more than a few hours.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed. His shoes, he notes, are gone. He feels around in his pockets, but his wand and his Stone of Far Speech are both gone too. Distressing, but. Not surprising.

His glasses, thankfully, are on the nightstand beside him. He slides them on as he stands. He’s steady, and his head feels clear. He doesn’t _seem_ to under any mood-altering spells.

He moves first to the windows, peering out through dusty shutters.

Outside is a garden, bracketed by a tall metal gate. It’s littered with fallen trees, overrun by weeds and gnarled vines and—if he looks close—what look like gravestones. He spots _at least_ a dozen – some new, marking spots of darkened and raised earth, and others so old they’re practically withered to bare rock.

Beyond the gate is a thick canopy of trees. Deciduous and evergreen, he notes. Familiar species. It’s likely then that he’s still on Faerûn. He keeps looking until he sees signs of wildlife – the fluttering a bird’s wings. So, the Prime Material Plane. Probably.

Or it could all be illusion magic, and this could all be a waste of time and he could have _absolutely no idea_ where –

_Detective work._

He pries at the shutters until they snap open, spilling enough dust into the air to nearly choke his sight. He’s at least two stories up, but he tries the window anyway. It doesn’t budge. He runs his hands around the frame, searching for a clasp or bolt, but there’s nothing there. Locked by magic then.

He wishes he has his wand. He wishes he had _Taako_ –

He turns away. There are two doors on opposite sides of the room. He moves to the first, tip-toeing around the cluttered floor.

It opens into a tiled washroom. Like the bedroom, the vanity is over-crowded to the point of near collapse, spilling over with different soaps, brushes, and strange-looking vials. But a small section in the center has been cleared off, with only a few items carefully laid out.

A fresh bar of soap. A folded towel. Clean, white linen clothing. In his size.

Angus very quickly closes the door.

He stands with his head pressed against the wood and stares at his hands. He breathes. Just breathes, and counts them down in his head. Gives himself twenty seconds. Twenty seconds to not think, not to be a detective.

When time is up, he straightens, clenches his trembling hands into fists, and crosses to the second door.

It leads into a long hall, all vaulted ceilings and marble floors, glistening with the light of chandeliered candles. Tall portraits line the walls, depicting an array of white-clad figures, their gazes hard and multicoloured.

Angus steps out.

When no one comes flying around the corner to restrain him, he takes another step. Then another, hesitating only one last time before starting down the hall at speed.

A small part of him—the part that belongs a scared twelve-year-old boy—hopes this is some sort of mistake. That Asaph meant for him to still be asleep, or meant to lock the door but forgot. That Asaph’s underestimated him. But the other part—the part that remembers, _My clever boy. We were so hoping you would catch on—_ knows better.

The first hall leads into a second. He passes several other doors, all leading to dark and equally crowded rooms. Angus peers in but doesn’t investigate further. He’s only looking for one thing.

He finds a staircase, as grand and lavishly decorated as the hall, and moves silently down into what looks like some sort of foyer. The first floor is brighter and more well-kept than the second, but still retains that sort of cluttered antique feeling, almost like a museum.

Angus keeps to the wall as he slips through the room, down into another hall and through a few more doorways until –

_Yes!_

An tall, oak door with stained glass insets. An _exit._

He races forward, grips the handle and pulls, but it doesn’t move. He pulls again, teeth gritted, feet sliding from the effort, then steps back, breathless, hands skimming the wood in search of a lock –

Fingers snap.

Angus is suddenly standing in the middle of a chandeliered room with a long table. Dazzling lights gleam across polished white china dishware, upon which an extravagant spread of food awaits—sausages, bacon, eggs, toast, pancakes, and a full platter of diced fruit.

At the other end of the table sits Asaph.

“Good morning,” he says.

Angus is frozen, his eyes wide and locked onto the face of his attacker. His heart is beating against his ribs like a caged animal.

But Asaph only smiles, patient and entirely unperturbed. He gestures to the only other chair. “You must be hungry. Please take a seat.”

He doesn’t move, but his eyes flicker to the exit. It’s not far – only a few steps. He can make a quick dash if it comes to it.

He tries not to think about the fact that Asaph could just snap his fingers and summon him right back. He tries not to think about anything at all.

He takes a deep breath.

Detective work.

This is detective work. And Asaph is a suspect, offering himself up for interrogation.

Slowly, he sits.

“Help yourself.”

Angus looks at the food, steaming and fresh. It smells _delicious._

He doesn’t touch it.

“No thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

Asaph tilts his head. “That isn’t true, now is it?”

“No thank you,” he repeats. His voice is surprisingly even.

“Very well.”

He retrieves a wand from his robes. Angus tenses, but he only gives it a small wave, and the food disappears.

“We have no intention of hurting you, Angus,” he says, tucking the wand away. “That’s not why we’ve brought you here.”

There are no obvious tells that he’s lying. He sounds sincere—almost _comforting._ Though it’s marred by that strange, dissonant echo in his voice. It’s almost like several voices in chorus.

Angus forces his shoulders to relax, twisting his hands in his lap to hide their tremors. Focus on the facts. Solve the mystery. “Then why am I here?”

“We’ve already told you. We want your help. And we want to help _you_.”

He blinks. Very carefully, he says, “So you stalked, attacked, and kidnapped me?”

If Asaph is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

“We agree perhaps the manner through which we orchestrated your homecoming was less than ideal, but it simply had to be done. You’re a very clever boy, Angus. There weren’t many ways we could think of to get our message to you. Now that you’re here, however, we hope we can proceed together in a more dignified fashion.”

A dozen questions spring to mind, but only one manages to leave his lips.

“My _homecoming_?”

Asaph nods. “This is your home now, Angus. You are safe here, and you are _loved_.” His voice is so _earnest._

His mouth works uselessly, stunned.  “I – I don’t –”

What is _going on?_ This isn’t his home! He _has_ a home – and friends, and a _family_ , and they probably have _no idea where he is._

Gods, he feels sick.

And Asaph is s _till smiling._

Solve the mystery, he tells himself. Solve the mystery, just solve the mystery –

“What do you _want_ with me?”

“To h –”

“And _don’t_ say to _help_ me. What do you _really_ want?”

 “You seek the details, of course,” Asaph concedes. “As to be expected from one so bright.” He folds his hands, leaning back.

“We’ll be straightforward, Angus. We seek to expand our consciousness—ours and yours—through a process known as Amalgamation. It’s an archaic magic, derived mainly from more ancient forms of necromancy and spiritual manipulation.”

Angus feels his eyes grow wider with each word, a cold, almost hallow feeling spreading through him. Asaph continues, as detached as though he were teaching a lesson.

“The ritual required involves several steps, culminating in the mixing of two souls into one body. However, the souls and minds must first be harmonious. This process can take up to a week. It involves the establishment of a growing connection over time, starting with memories, then emotions and sensations, and then finally, thoughts.”

_Memories._

Oh gods. So _that’s_ what Asaph was doing to him while he slept.

“No,” he says, the word spilling from between numb lips. Solve the mystery. He needs to – “No, that’s not – This doesn’t make any sense.”

“We know it sounds frightening, Angus. Even _we_ were frightened our first times. But we guarantee, it is s _afe._ We’ve Amalgamated thirty-four souls in our lifetimes, and each time grown stronger and happier for it. You will too, once you are a part of us. We promise.”

His expression is open, kind. Sympathetic. But his words are like arctic waters, and Angus is _drowning._

Necromancy, spiritual manipulation, becoming _a part_ of someone else –

“What if I refuse?” he asks. “What if I say no?”

“You won’t,” Asaph says simply. “Perhaps you want to, right now, but in time, you’ll come to see the truth. This is a _blessing,_ Angus. The things you’ll gain for this – it’s comparable to immortality!” Asaph actually laughs, and the sound is like a punch, knocking the breath from his lungs as icy water rushes in to fill them.

“As long as we continue to Amalgamate, we continue to live. We gain the memories and wisdom of each new life, the power and strength of every soul taken in. And you will too!”

The water is closing in over his head.

“You’ll become a part of something _beautiful._ Angus, you’ll never have to be lonely again.”

“Stop it,” he chokes. “ _Stop it!_ You can’t – You can’t just decide _for me!_ ”

Asaph smiles again, his eyes a shifting kaleidoscope, and it’s so _reassuring,_ like he _truly_ believes what he’s saying.

“You still have plenty of time to decide, Angus. The ritual can only be performed once all three levels of connection have been established.”

“Why?” he manages. “I don’t – Why _me_? Why not someone –” stronger, older, _who actually wants this._

“Ah, this is a bit easier to explain. The process can be difficult, you see. It requires both parties—that is, both parties performing the Amalgamation—to be incredibly intelligent and adaptable to expansion and change.”

Asaph claps his hands and leans in, excited. “That’s why we needed _you,_ Angus, clever boy that you are. Your young age is simply a bonus! You have more neuroplasticity and untapped potential than any of our previous lives, and so few memories to sort through and reorient ourselves with!”

“But _I don’t want this!_ ” he gasps. His hands are shaking so hard they knock against the underside of the table. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this!” His eyes begin to sting. “ _I want to go home!_ ”

Asaph makes a pained noise. “Oh, my dear boy, perhaps we’ve gotten a little ahead of ourselves. You’re afraid, and we understand. But Angus, we promise—we _promise—_ soon you’ll understand our joy. Soon you’ll begin to see just how _wonderful_ it is to be a part of something so grand, to have lived so much, to _know_ so much.” He places a hand over his heart, eyes shining. “To never, ever be _lonely_ again.”

He’s not lonely. He’s _not –_

“My dear,” Asaph says. “Do not lie to us, to y _ourself_. We know how they treated you, how they _hurt you._ ”

“My family –”

“Has all but abandoned you,” Asaph says. “Just like your grandfather. They’d rather _forget_ you even existed.”

“Stop it! You don’t know –”

“We do, my child,” Asaph coos. “We have seen within your mind.”

His memories. Asaph was in his head, rifling through him like an open book. Asaph was in his head and he –

“You – You _did_ something to me!” Angus squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, claws his nails into his own skin. “My memories, you _changed_ them!”

“We felt your sorrow, your pain, your _fear_. We feel it even _now_ , and we only want to help ease it.”

“No!” There are tears in his eyes now, unbidden, overflowing. “No, no, that’s not – that’s not true! I _felt_ you in there, I _saw_ you! You were – you were changing things, changing the way I felt!”

Asaph stands.

Angus flinches so violently he almost falls from the chair, but Asaph rounds table slowly, pausing to kneel at his side.

“We know you don’t trust us yet, Angus, and we know this has all been very hard for you. But we promise, this will _change._ You will come to see the truth. We will be _whole_.”

He takes Angus’s hands, uncurls his fists and stills their trembles.

“In the meantime, my child, while the connections are forming, you’re free to do as you please. Ask us whatever you want to know, and we’ll answer truthfully. We’ll give you whatever we can to make this transition as easy as possible,” he promises. “Whatever you want, my dear boy.”

Angus tears his hands away.

“I want to go _home_.”

Asaph only shakes his head, wistful. His lips curl into another smile, this one smaller, almost bittersweet.

“My child, you’re already here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me feedback or give me death


	5. Chapter 5

The ache in Kravitz’s back is starting to get hard to ignore.

Small discomforts are hardly uncommon in his line of work, with it’s long hours and laborious—and frequently murderous—missions. He’s learned to push the usual bumps and bruises to the back of his mind, to work through them, to stay focused on the tasks at hand.

But right now, there’s little else to distract him.

He’s been sitting here for what feels like _hours_ , legs curled awkwardly beneath him on the floor of Angus’s room, trying to take up as little space as possible amidst what looks like the debris of a small hurricane. The floor is chaos – one half teetering piles of books and toys, the other an assortment of boxes pulled off of bookshelves or slid out from beneath the bed. All Angus’s things.

It’s been nearly two days now.

Angus’s clothes are all still in the closet. His toothbrush is still on the washroom sink. The jar of spare change he keeps on his nightstand is still full.

These had been the first things Kravitz checked. He’d thought, at the time, that crossing the possibility of _running away_ off the list would make him feel better. But it’s actually done the opposite.

Because the alternatives are so much worse.

He’s sorting through Angus’s other things now. Old trinkets and board games, a pile of clothes Angus already managed to outgrow in the year since Taako took it upon himself to revamp his whole wardrobe. Kravitz has just started on a box full of used notebooks and journals, mainly filled with school notes, daily reminders, and the occasional observation of his classmate’s suspicious activities.

He’s looking for –

Well. He doesn’t really know _what_ he’s looking for. Clues, maybe? A note that says, _Went to visit Magnus in Raven’s Roost. Didn’t bring my Stone for some reason. But I’m perfectly safe and I’ll be back soon!_

He gets to the end of another notebook. No clue. No note alleviating his worst fears.

He sighs, tossing it back into the pile and scrubbing a hand down his face.

Gods, he feels awful. Awful and invasion, and like a terrible, _terrible_ father. He hates this. But he has to do s _omething_ while Lup’s in the Astral Plane or he might actually lose his entire mind.

Last night, Lup had torn a hole through space nearly as soon as he’d hung up on her, marching into his kitchen in full reaper regalia, her eyes a fiery red.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

Kravitz nearly dropped the Stone in his hand, still warm with the magic of another answered call.

“Lup? What – I thought you were working?”

“So?”

“ _So?”_ he sputtered. “Lup, you can’t just _ignore_ your job! The Raven Queen –”

“Fuck my _job!_ Where’s _Angus?”_

She’d been as anxious as he was, and twice as insistent to help. She demanded they go to the Neverwinter Militia to file a report. Then, the next morning, that they go around to question some of the neighbours.

Her third idea was checking the Astral Plane.

It was a good idea. A really good idea. Logical. Kravitz wondered why he didn’t think of it first.

It was a good idea. But it could take a long time. It would be faster if they both went.

Lup immediately offered to go alone.

The amount of relief he'd felt was almost enough to be embarrassing. He knew it was stupid. It wouldn’t change anything, whether he went with her or stayed behind. _He_ _knew it was stupid._ But.

He couldn’t.

Because if Angus _was_ there –

He pushes the thought down. Balls his hands into fists and presses them into his eyes. That was the whole reason he started going through Angus’s things! _Specifically_ to avoid thinking _that very thought!_

He quickly starts on another notebook before he can get derailed again, this one from a pile of similar-looking copies—labelled _Mystery Notebooks_ , volumes one through seven. He rifles through the latest edition. The last page is dated almost six months ago. It’s a single sentence, scratched out until nearly illegible.

_March 1st. 9AM service. Riverside FH. Section 3, plot 116._

There’s a loud noise down the hall.

Kravitz drops the book and scrambles to his feet.

He's breathless by the time he reaches the kitchen to find Lup, the Astral Plane already sewing itself shut behind her, her skeletal form melting away and she shakes out her hair.

Kravitz tenses, chest tight, already preparing for the worst.

“He’s not there.”

“Oh, thank the _gods.”_

His legs nearly _buckle._ He steadies himself on the countertop, bringing his head down to rest with his eyes closed on the smooth marble. He stays there for an embarrassingly long time, just breathing. 

There’s a brief touch on the back of his neck. Soft hands. Warm. They pull away just as fast.

“I’m going to talk to the Raven Queen.”

“ _What?”_ Kravitz snaps to full height. “I thought you said he wasn’t there!”

“He isn’t,” Lup says. And again when his expression doesn’t change. “He’s _isn’t,_ Krav. But I want to talk to her. Maybe she can help us.”

“How?”

Lup looks away. “Well, I was thinking, if she puts a bounty on his –”

“ _What?”_

“Hear me out!” She throws her hands up. “If she puts a bounty on his soul, we’ll be able to track it!”

Kravitz stares. She stares right back, back straight, chin high.

“Lup…”

“It could work!” she insists.

“No, it couldn’t,” he sighs. “Lup, listen, a bounty from the Raven Queen – it’s not something you _want._ It’s powerful, yes, but it’s _dangerous._ The only way to break it is to fulfil it. That means _reaping._ ” He gives her a hard look. “That means putting him in the Stockade.”

“Oh, come on,” Lup huffs. “You _really_ think she doesn’t have some sort of way to work around that? Some kind of fantasy reset button?”

Kravitz pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s not omnipotent. She doesn’t _control_ death, she enforces it.”

Lup scowls. “We saved the whole fucking world. She owes us a favour here!”

“The Raven Queen doesn’t do _favours_ , Lup.”

“She might!” Lup looks about ready to shake him by the shoulders. “Come on, you’re basically her son. If _you_ ask –”

“The Raven Queen is _not_ my _mother!”_

“Well, maybe not by _blood_ –”

“Lup, I’m being serious!”

“So am I!”

He shakes his head. “It’s not possible.”

She throws her hands in the air. “Fine! Fine! Never fuckin’ mind! What’s _your_ brilliant plan then?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, then closes it, useless. He thinks of the room at the end of the hall, the mess scattered across the floor.  _Useless._

“I… I don’t know.” He twists his hands together, releases them. Twists them again.

Lup watches with a pained expression, her anger all but melting away. She takes a halting step towards him, then another, before slowly wrapping him in a hug.

It’s short, a little stiff, just toeing the line of awkward. When she pulls away, she won’t meet his eyes, but she takes his hands in her own and forces them still.

Her hands, unlike his, are warm. He wonders if it’s because of all the fire. Maybe it’s just her.

“We’re gonna find him, okay?” she says. “He’s a smart kid. He’s gonna be _fine._ ”

They’ve never been all that close, he and Lup. When they first met, they were at odds. Not just a lich and a reaper, but also a sister and lover, both desperate for Taako’s attention, protective of his heart. Even after becoming coworkers, they stayed professional and distant. They only times they ever really spent together were with Taako. Or with Angus.

“Kravitz,” she says, and squeezes his hand. “He’s gonna be fine.”

He wonders how cold he feels to her. If she can tell it’s from fear.

He squeezes back.

It’s Lup who lets go, after a long moment. But she doesn’t move away.

“We need to come up with a plan,” she says softly. “Have you told him yet?”

She doesn’t have to say the name.

“Not… yet.”

“Krav.”

"I know, I know,” he says. “It’s just – He’s on tour right now, and I know it’s already really busy and stressful, and I don’t want to worry him or make him think he needs to drop everything –”

“Kravitz,” Lup says. Her voice is stern. Not as angry as before, but each word is sharp. “You have to tell Taako.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Otherwise you would have told him already. Kravitz. _Look at me_.”

He does.

Lup’s eyes burn. “Taako’s _biggest_ fear—Kravitz, his _biggest fucking fear_ —is having his family be hurt or missing, and not knowing about it. Not _being allowed_ to know about it.”

She's right. Of course she's right.

It stings. Kravitz closes his eyes and releases a long sigh.

“I know.”

“You don’t put him through that again. You don’t _get_ to put him through that again.”

His eyes feel hot.

“ _I know._ ”

Her lips are pressed together, her brows low. She stares him down like a challenge. But after a moment, she breaks. Clears her throat.

“Good.”

Kravitz feels her hands on his shoulder, feather-light, like she'd brush off the weight of the world if she could.

“Now let’s find that kid.”


	6. Chapter 6

In his work, Angus sees a lot of people at their worst.

Perps, corned and desperate. Bystanders, confused and frightened. Victims, in shock. Usually after a theft, sometimes an attack. Shock is always easy to detect. He knows all the signs. Dilated pupils, flushed skin. The way breaths get faster and hands start to shake. He knows all the signs.

And right now, he feels them too.

When his clients are in shock, Angus always tries to make them sit. He comforts them, if he can. Tells them, _Calm down, everything’s okay, you’re safe now._

Angus does manage to find a place to sit, after he flees the room from Asaph, but there’s no one to comfort him.

He doesn’t calm down. Nothing’s okay. And he isn’t safe now.

_He isn’t safe._

He’s in a small room somewhere in the upstairs halls—what looks like might have once been a bedroom, but is now home to yet more storage. He doesn’t remember finding it, doesn’t even really remember running from Asaph. But he remembers the feeling – the pressure in his chest, the numbness in his limbs, the revulsion and fear and desperate need to _get away get away from me don’t touch me –_

He’s still heaving from his race up the stairs, now wedged between old piano and a writing desk. Its crowded and it’s dark and he’s _trapped_ but at least he’s _alone._ He buries his face in his arms, and his glasses hurt where they’re pressed against the skin, glass cloudy with tears, but he can’t bring himself to move.

He rocks through shuddering breaths, mind incessantly replaying Asaph’s words, circling over and over back to one single, horrifying thought.

Asaph wants to consume his soul. Asaph wants to _consume_ his _soul._

He hears his own voice, muffled, soft whimpers escaping, and he can’t _stop_ them.

He has to get out of here!

But _how?_ He doesn’t even know where he _is_ , or how long it’s been, or if anyone’s noticed he’s gone! Everything’s locked with magic, and he doesn’t even have his wand, and Asaph a powerful wizard with hundreds—potentially _thousands—_ of years of experience and training, and he’s only _twelve!_

And Asaph wants to _consume his soul!_

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, sheltered in the dark in the pretense of solitude, but by the time the tears finally stop and Angus manages to pull himself to his feet, his eyes are puffy and sore, the room dimmer and the shadows outside longer.  

He finds a washroom, cups his hands beneath the faucet and scrubs at his face, stares into the mirror and forces his breaths all the way down to his stomach.

He pulls himself together.

Because he may be only twelve, but he’s also the World’s Greatest Detective.

He tears a long strip of parchment off a scroll. He finds a pen in one of the desk drawers. He straightens his shirt and cleans his glasses and, stilling the last of the trembles in his hands, carefully begins to catalogue his discoveries.

Wherever they are, it’s secluded. The forest is tall and dense, crowding in on the house from every direction. There are no neighbouring buildings, no roads, no people passing by to call out to.

The windows are definitely magicked shut – any attempts to shatter the glass are met with bruised hands and, on several attempts, splinters from the furniture sacrificed to his efforts. That option exhausted, Angus simply plants himself next to one and _waits_. He watches a few squirrels skitter by, watches the trees rustle in the wind, watches the way the shadows shift beneath the clouds, hypervigilant for a flaw, for any sign that it’s illusory magic, but he finds none.

He moves on, searching now within the house, which is as eerily quiet as it was this morning. Angus doesn’t see a single other person. The only thing that stops him from concluding that Asaph must live alone is how _crowded_ everything is. Particularly the second floor, which looks more like a dragon’s hoard than a person’s living space. Like the room he first woke up in, everything is packed. Old furniture and dishware, tool kits and art supplies, enchanted items and foreign décor that Angus can’t make heads or tails of. He finds clothing and adventuring gear in a mixture of styles and sizes, shelf after shelf of dusty old tomes, and dozens upon dozens of paintings and portraits—some that look _ancient._ A few, like the portraits in hall, show people. Others are vivid city skylines, sweeping landscapes, and scenic villages—none of which Angus can place.

As he explores, he sketches a rough map, the twisting halls falling together on the page like the walls of a maze. It’s more of a manor than a house, he finds. On the main floor, the western wing holds an observatory with a skylight, while the eastern wing is almost entirely dedicating to a massive library.

As Asaph promised, Angus seems free to wander about as he pleases, with the exception of just two locked doors. On the map, he leaves them blank – two small question marks circled in ink.

At first, Asaph remains mostly unseen, though Angus isn’t fooled for a second into thinking he isn’t being scryed on through the walls – the house _reeks_ of magic. This suspicion is proven true when Asaph begins materializing next to him, an explanation always ready for whatever Angus has most recently stumbled across.

“This room isn’t ready for you yet, my child,” Asaph tells him in the basement. In the attic, “This room is off-limits for now.”

Angus doesn’t respond. He shoulders his way past Asaph and back into more familiar parts of the house.

There’s one other room that peaks his interest. It’s a bedroom just down the hall from the one he first woke up in. This room is a stark difference from the rest of house – pristine and bright, not a speak of dust, with walls, curtains, and bedsheets all the same shock of white.

“This is your room,” Asaph says, emerging from the doorway. “Until the Amalgamation is complete, of course. We can change it, if you’d like, to reflect a more personal design. In fact, if you’re ready, we’d love to begin collecting your things from your old home.”

Angus feels nauseous. He leaves the room and doesn’t go back.

Asaph finds him a short while later in the kitchens.

“Hungry?” he asks. “We’re more than happy to make you –”

Angus lets the cupboards slam shut on his way out.

This time, Asaph blinks. Then, with a small frown, begins to follow.

Angus walks faster, studiously ignoring as Asaph drifts behind him.

But in the library, Asaph gestures to a set of shelves. “We’ve already taken the liberty of accumulating some of your favourites.”

The full Caleb Cleveland saga sits on the top shelf. Below are a number of books he doesn’t recognize, some of the titles in languages he can’t even read.

“Some suggestions we’ve thought of,” Asaph explains. “You needn’t worry about the language barrier. After the Amalgamation, you’ll share all of our mother tongues.”

Angus hardly pauses to glance at the books, eyes already on the door.

Asaph steps in his way.

“My dear child,” he says. “We know you’re unhappy, but _please_ –”

“I want to leave,” Angus says.

Angus meets his gaze and doesn’t back down. Slowly, Asaph steps back.

Angus doesn’t move. “I want to leave _this_ _house_.”

Asaph’s brow creases. Frustration, Angus notes. The first time he’s shown frustration. But just as fast, the expression morphs into concern, sickly sweet in Asaph’s shining eyes.

Angus stops trying to read his face. There’s no point – Asaph’s too good of a liar. This is his home, this is his _stage._ Suspects are always better liars in familiar environments.

Plus, he doesn’t want to see any more of Asaph’s _stupid_ fake empathy.

“We’re afraid we cannot allow you to leave until the Amal-”

“I want my Stone of Far Speech.”

He wants to see the crack in Asaph’s façade.

Asaph sighs. “Angus…”

“You said anything!” he bites out. “You said you’d give me anything I wanted! That’s what you said this morning!”

He wants to see the monster underneath.

“Angus, please. You’re acting like a child –”

“I want my wand!”

Finally— _finally—_ Asaph bristles. Angus sees the tension in his neck, the way his hands twitch into fists. Asaph stares him down, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and for a half-second, Angus thinks just maybe he’s gone too far. Maybe he’s tipped the scale. Maybe Asaph isn’t as infinitely patient as he seems.

But the moment passes.

Asaph sighs, posturing loosening, and the tension evaporates.

 Then he fixes Angus with a careful look, as if inspecting him, a whisper on his breath.

Angus blinks.

A shiver passes through him – a hint of static in his head.

“Very well,” Asaph says, looking pleased. “You may have your wand.”

He snaps his fingers and Angus’s wand materializes in his palm.

Angus’s heart leaps. He snatches it, holding it up for inspection. It looks fine—thank _god—as_ clean and well-cared for as the day Taako bought it for him.

“Are you satisfied?” Asaph asks, but Angus is already shoving past him.

He sprints down the long hall, skidding to a stop at the first window he sees.

He casts Knock.

Nothing happens.

He tries again.

Nothing. Not even a sound.

Asaph appears behind him. “Certainly you’re clever enough to know we wouldn’t just allow you to –”

Angus whirls around and casts Thunderwave. Magic Missile. Ray of Frost.

Nothing.

Asaph’s nebulous eyes twitch. “Angus. That’s _enough_.”

His ears are buzzing. He tries one on himself instead. Blink.

Again, nothing.

Angus feels a pressure building in chest. A pounding in his head. Static.

But then Asaph lets out a sigh, and it bleeds away. Asaph smooths a hand down the front of his robes, and Angus feels himself straighten.

The static grows _louder._

Asaph clears his throat, back under control. And Angus feels –

“Get out of my head.”

“Angus,” Asaph says. He moves forward. “We are only trying to _help_.”

Angus stumbles back, away. He has to get away. He has to – He doesn’t want to –

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” He can barely hear his own words.

“Calm down, Angus. We’re not going to hurt you,” Asaph says, and Angus’s vision starts to blur, static eclipsing thought.

“You – You took away my magic! You’re messing with my head!”

“Just suppressed it,” Asaph says. “And only for now. Until the connection is solidified. Until you can be trusted not to hurt yourself.” He smiles, bittersweet. “Or your future self.”

“You’re not –” he gasps. “You’re _not!”_

He feels the wand slip from his grasp. He doubles over and covers his ears. It’s so _loud –_

Until suddenly, everything falls silent.

 

* * *

 

Standing over him, Asaph runs a gentle hand over the fragment’s head. He collapses into Sleep, the strain of the connection relaxing as the will to fight it slips from his unconscious mind.

The fragment is every bit as clever as they’d hoped, though he’s proven himself stubborn as well. He may not come around easily, but they know he will change his mind in time. The connection grows stronger every hour. Soon, they will be able to manipulate not just his memories and magic, but his thoughts, feelings, and eventually, his very essence.

For now, they let him sleep. His mind may be a sea of untapped potential, but his body is still only that of young child, overtaxed and afraid. As they carry the fragment to bed, they watch his sleeping face, peaceful under their spell. They smile, and their eyes swirl, the reflection of thirty-four souls. Hungry, but patient. For now.


	7. Chapter 7

Taako sits in a small travel wagon parked on the western edge of the Felicity Wilds, eyes closed and forehead resting atop crossed arms at a fold-up table.

It’s the ass-crack of dawn – far too earlier for any reasonable elf to be awake. There are literally still like nine-hundred million crickets chirping outside. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, in the pocket spa, where he can’t hear them. But he’s not in the pocket spa tonight. He couldn’t. He had to get out, get some fresh air, try to clear his head. Try to shake off the nightmares.

Lup and Barry, the day they become liches. Magnus’s soul flung from his body, being sucked into the Astral Plane. Kravitz, drowning in a lake of black tar. The Hunger, always following, destroying, _consuming._

So, the usual.

Damn. He really should have brought his sleepy sack.

Maybe he could call Krav. Ask him to bring it along next time visit.

He already has his Stone of Far Speech in hand, smoothing his thumb back and forth across the rounded edges. He’s been debating whether to call for hours, but keeps talking himself out of it. Kravitz might be working, he reasons. And it’s so early that even _Angus_ is probably still in bed. Not that Taako would ever _ever_ bother Angus with something as stupid as this. Obviously.

It’s been about a week since his last call home, and even that one had been short and more than a little forced. Taako had tried all the usual tricks – asking questions about Angus’s day, his friends, his progress with new spells. He’d even made an effort to sound _interested_ , which was a pretty big step for him. But Angus had mostly responded in clipped, mono-syllabic answers. Taako knows him well enough to know he was probably just worried about boring him, but a small part of his brain keeps rearing its ugly little head, insisting that Angus must still upset over the – well, it wasn’t really a fight, more like _incident_.

It was the week before he left. The anniversary of Glamour Springs. Taako hadn’t been able to settle down long enough to meditate—let alone sleep—in days. He’d been, well, _stressed_. To say the least.

He didn’t tell anyone, of course. He had an image to uphold here. Besides, it had been _years_ since Glamour Springs. He moved on. He literally saved the entire universe. Seriously, he thought he was _over_ this already _fucking damnit._

So he decided to try it again. Thirty Garlic Clove Chicken.

He knew he’d never again be able to cook it on the show again, _obviously,_ it would be like _asking_ for bad ratings. But he thought... if he could just get it right, just _once,_ maybe that would be enough. He just needed to prove to himself that he could do it. That it was safe, that it was _fine,_ that he was finally _over it._

And he did. And he was.

He thought.

But then Angus had come home.

“How was your last day, boy genius?” Taako had asked over his shoulder. He was crouched by the oven, peering in every few minutes even though it was bad to let the heat out. He just had to see it, had to keep being sure.

“Really good!” Angus said, the smile audible in his voice. “Actually… Lucas kept me back after the bell rang. He – He wanted to ask me about a summer job.”

“What?” Taako looked up. “Angus, that’s gr–”

He froze.

Angus was leaning against the counter, grin wide, hand extended towards a bowl of purple berries.

Taako didn’t remember exactly how it happened. One moment he was standing, and the next he was diving across the counter, slapping the berries from Angus’s hand just as he was about to toss one into his mouth.

The blow was hard. Much harder than it needed to be

Angus gave a shout. His hand shot down, and down, until it hit the stove—still red-hot from a simmering pot. He cried out, swore, stumbled back and clutched the hand to his chest, tears welling up behind his glasses.

Taako was already yelling—“ _Fuck,_ Angus, don’t just waltz in here and start grabbing shit when I’m _working_ ”—as he took Angus’s hand, dragging him to the sink and to plunge it under a stream of icy water. He may have kept yelling, he wasn’t sure. His heart hammered in his chest. Glamour Springs. All he could think of was _fucking_ Glamour Springs.

How the kids had been the first to get sick, their faces pale, their lips blue, tears welling up behind their glasses –

“Sir, you’re hurting me.”

Angus’s pained voice pierced the haze.

Taako could still hear it now, could still feel the twist of guilt in his stomach that accompanied it, bitter and sick.

The burn left a bright red scare across the center of Angus’s palm. His good hand too. The one he writes with, holds his wand with. Fuck. Way to be a good teacher, Taako. Way to be a good _dad._

He apologized. He thinks he did, anyway. The rest of that day was weirdly blank. Still, the damage was done, and they hardly spoke for a few days afterwards. Angus kept to his room, and Taako left him to it. When they did find themselves in the same space, Angus made himself quiet and small, always distance between them, a sort of detachment.

And even now when they talk, it’s stilted. Awkward. Like those first few magic lessons on the moonbase. Like they’re strangers again. And it makes Taako sick to his stomach.

He ruined it. Whatever they had, whatever that relationship had been. Now it’s back to square one. All because he couldn’t keep his fucking _shit_ together like an a _dult._ Like a fucking _parent_ should.

And he remembers, over two years ago, the first night they moved into the house after the Day of Story and Song. He remembers Angus, crawling into bed beside him, trembling from nightmares, or maybe from fear—fear of _him_ , fear that this wasn’t allowed between them. He remembers hugging him close, desperate to sooth those fears, and being so _afraid_ that he was going to fuck this up.

And he remembers Angus telling him about his family. About his dad. About why he left to go live with his grandpa when he was only ten.

And he remembers forcing himself to breathe, to simmer the fury burning in his chest, and taking those small, unscarred hands in his own, and promising him—he fucking _promised him—_ "Angus, I will never _ever_ hurt you.”

_Sir, you're hurting me._

Way to go, dumbass. Way to keep your fucking promise.

Taako sighs, head falling hard to the table. He twists his fingers into the back of his hair. Pulls, almost hard enough to hurt.

He feels something else instead, warm and familiar around a single finger.

He looks up. One of the rings on his hand is glowing—the one Kravitz gave him just before he left on tour, so that he’d be able to track and visit him between shows.

He snaps to full height. Sure enough, a tear is beginning to form, suspended in the air in the center of the wagon. It opens slowly, the light around it shifting as space warps and bends. After a moment, a familiar figure steps through.

Taako scrubs the exhaustion from his eyes, slaps what could probably pass for a smile, and spread his arms.

“ _Hey_ , sexy, what a surprise –”

He stops short when he sees the look on Kravitz’s face. Somber, tense. As tired as Taako feels.

His arms fall. “What… What is it?”

Kravitz takes a deep breath.

And tells him everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my draft, this chapter was titled "taako finally becomes plot relevant"


	8. Chapter 8

Angus wakes with a sore neck and the bleary, swollen eyes telltale of the hours spent crying last night before finally managing to fall asleep again.

He’d woken from Asaph’s spell in the middle of the night, gasping like he’d gone hours without breath, pillowed in fine white cotton in the room upstairs. In the washroom, he heaved up an empty stomach, splashed his face with cool water and started hard at his reflection until the colour returned to his cheeks. But when he returned, the bedroom seemed foreign and cold in the moonlight, the sheets twisted from his thrashes the only thing out of place in a room so lifeless and sterile.  It made his skin crawl just to look at. It felt _wrong._

 Unable to stand another moment there, he ended up on a sofa in the back of the library instead, where he laid for hours, his breaths stirring dust in the air while he tracked the movement of the moonlight through the shutters. Now, hours later, he watches the sunlight instead. He stays there, limbs curled together, until the ache in his neck and the pang of hunger in his stomach become nearly unbearable.

At last, he rises. His feet drag as he leaves the library.

The house is quiet where it had yesterday been deafening, still where it had felt crowded and suffocating. He shuffles through the halls, aimless, until his feet bring him back to the door of the very bedroom he’d fled. Inside, he lowers his eyes and cuts a straight path to the washroom. He feels grimy, skin stiff with stale sweat, and so when he finds the same toiletries and fresh clothing that were laid out yesterday, he lets out a small sigh of relief and begins to run a bath.

Angus sits in the water until long after it’s turned cool, hair limp in his eyes, fingers pruning, and scrubs at his own skin like he’s trying to remove it. He dresses in the new clothes. Cotton and silk. Soft and white, like the rest of the room. He brushes his teeth. Combs his hair.

It feels… nice. Better.

 _He_ feels better. Cleaner, more composed. Calm.

He’s still angry, still anxious, but it simmers mild beneath his chest now. His hands are steady, his breaths easier. Sleeping and freshening up seem to have done the job of softening the edges of his misery, like time has distanced him from it now.

He’s no more eager than he was yesterday to see Asaph, but something about it feels routine, inevitable. So he sighs, pockets his wand and his map, and heads downstairs.

Asaph is waiting for him when he enters the dining room, like Angus knew he’d be. A flick of his wand, and a full spread of breakfast appears at the end of the table.

His stomach growls.

He sits.

Asaph raises an eyebrow, expectant. Angus knows he’s giving something up by accepting the food, losing some little battle in this stupid, twisted game they’re playing. And he _hates_ it. But.

His stomach growls again, louder.

He reaches for his fork.

Asaph watches him eat, though thankfully doesn’t say a word. Angus scowls back between bites anyway, but the hunger must have been affecting his mood too, because the more he eats, the better he feels. The food is _good_. Though, Angus muses, nowhere near as good as anything Taako’s ever made.

The thought sends a pang of loneliness through him.

Angus misses his house, familiar and warm. He misses his magic, how safe it made him feel. He even misses his detective work, tedious though it could sometimes be. But more than anything, he misses his family. _Desperately._

He wonders if they miss him too. If they even know he’s gone yet.

No. He can’t think like that. It’s been three days _at least_ – possibly more, though Angus has no accurate way of telling. They know. They _have_ to know.

Unless Kravitz has been working. Unless Taako hasn’t called home. Unless Asaph somehow knows some way to make time pass differently here than in the real world.

But no, he already crossed out that possibility. The manor’s way too big to be a pocket dimension. And Angus can see outside! Asaph can’t possibly be strong enough for such a detailed and prolonged illusion.

…Right?

Angus looks up, eyes narrowed. Asaph sits, pleasant as ever. His posture and expression open, unthreatening. But Angus knows there’s more to him than that, knows there’s cunning behind that gaze, calculated intent behind every word and gesture.

Asaph’s been fairly forthcoming with information, including his plans, but only because he doesn’t think Angus can use any of it against him. And he’s right. For all that Angus has questioned him, he still hasn’t managed to find any of his captor’s limitations or weaknesses. He knows only two things about Asaph for sure: that he’s a powerful magic user, and an incredibly good liar. The act in Neverwinter and the serene, paternal façade he’s kept up so far attest to the latter. The closest Angus has even got to seeing Asaph’s true temperament was last night, when he kept pushing his boundaries.

But Asaph isn’t the only one who knows how to play a role.

Besides, if there’s anything Angus has learned from Taako, it’s that _everyone’s_ patience has a limit.

So.

What would Taako do?

Angus drops his fork. It clatters to the floor, the shattering the quiet.

“This food fucking _sucks_.”

Angus lifts his plate and neatly scrapes it clean. Onto the floor.

“Seriously, you want me to believe you’ve lived, what, thirty lives? And you can’t even cook yet?”

Asaph blinks, eyes wide and startled. He clears his throat. “I take it you’re not feeling any more agreeable today, then? Resting and freshening up didn’t help?”

Angus’s eyes narrow. His stomach churns uneasily, and it’s not from the food. That sounded almost identical to his own thoughts earlier. Has that been the intention of all this, to alter his mood? To make him more _agreeable?_

His fists clench, but he keeps his voice disinterested. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to read my mind or whatever?”

Asaph hesitates. “W-Well, the Amalgamation involves a certain level of – ”

“Then why are you asking?” Angus cuts in, leaning back to cross his arms. He’d put his feet up on the table, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to reach. “Pretty shitty at divination? Bummer. Guess we can’t all be aces at everything.”

Before Asaph can respond, he leans forward again, fingers snapping. “Wait a second! I get the hills have eyes and everything, but you didn’t watch me bathe, did you?” He doesn’t have to fake the disgust in his voice. “Because that would be _fucking creepy._ ”

Asaph’s eyes actually go wide. “Certainly not! Angus, we – We would only every scry upon you if we feared for your safety.”

His thoughts seem to take on the very venom of Taako’s voice. _Safety._ Yeah fucking right. Let’s kidnap a kid because we’re _so worried_ about his _safety._

“Bullshit,” he says.

Asaph’s brows crease, tension in his hands as he laces them together across the table.

“Angus, please. This conversation is ludicrous and impolite.”

The anger that’s been quiet in his chest since this morning chest surges up, and this time, Angus lets it.

“Impolite? You’re worried about being _polite?_ Was it _polite_ when you kidnapped me? Was it _polite_ when you trapped me here? Was it _polite_ when you _messed with my head_?”

Asaph frowns, as if suddenly remembering something.

The fury within him flickers.

Then settles.

Angus blinks, suddenly deflated, exhaustion weighing at his limbs. It’s the fastest adrenaline crash he’s ever felt, for a moment, Angus feels sick with it, dazed in its wake.

There’s a buzzing in his ears.

“It had to be done,” Asaph says, massaging his temples. “Angus, my boy, you must understand.”

“I don’t. I don’t understand any of this!” Angus stands, but something’s wrong. His limbs are heavy. Everything feels far away, warped slightly, like he’s looking at it through water. “You took me away from my home. You took me away from my family,” he says, just to remind himself. He’s angry. He should be angry.

Why isn’t he angry?

“They are not your true family, Angus,” Asaph says. “ _We_ are. We are the only ones who can truly understand you, who are a part of you.”

Angus’s energy is washing off of him in waves. He’s suddenly tired. So tired. Asaph is right. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He just wants to be understood.

_“No!”_

His fist cracks down on the table.

Asaph jolts, concentration broken, and the fog lifts.

“ _Fuck you!_ ” Angus spits. “Get out of my head! Get _out_ of my head!”

Asaph’s frown turns to a scowl. Finally, _finally._ “That’s _enough_ , Angus!”

“Shut up!” he screams. “Shut up, shut up!”

Asaph stands, hands outstretched, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Angus, stop this!”

He’s angry now too. Angus can tell. Angus can _feel_ it.

He slams his fist again, and the dishware clatters. He grabs the plate and hurls it at Asaph’s head.

Asaph ducks, the china shattering on the wall behind him, and just like that, Angus feels him snap – a flood of impatiencefrustration _rage._ It crashes over him like a wave, sweeping him up in it’s wake. He doesn’t know if the anger is his or Asaph’s anymore. He doesn’t care. He seizes and wields it like a knife.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up!” He smashes another plate, a mug, a bowl. “Get out of my head!” Another plate, this time managing to hit. “Get out!”

_“ENOUGH!”_

Asaph points his wand just as Angus lobs a glass. It rebounds against the spell, swept up in a storm of wind that scatters the shards and slams into Angus. He flies backwards, clipping his chair, then sliding across the floor until his back collides with the wall, the flurry of wind swallowing his cries.

Cutlery clatters to the floor as the storm dies. His head pounds, chest heaving, gripped by icy fear as he scrambles to his knees.

But when the air finally stills, Asaph only sighs and hangs his head, no other attack forthcoming. He sways as though suddenly exhausted, steadying himself with a hand against the table only to hisses and tear it back.

His eyes snap up, expression stricken.

“You’re hurt,” he says. His voice is just a whisper. Hoarse, like he’s been the one screaming.

Asaph sweeps across the room to kneel at his side, too fast for Angus to move.

“Oh, my dear boy. Come now, let us see.”

Angus flinches too late, clumsy and still dazed, and Asaph gently takes his hand. It’s only then that Angus sees the blood dripping in rivulets from between his fingers. He stares, thoughts slow, as Asaph uncurls his hand and, as one, they wince. The cut is deep, the blood bright against his skin, warm where it pools in the elbow of his sleeve.

Asaph makes quick work of healing him, and though the shirt is already ruined, on his palm it leaves only the barest of scars. Right below it is another. A burn, now just a few weeks old.

Angus feels tears spill over his eyes. A sickening river of emotions swirl through him—anger fear confusion empathy regret concern loneliness loneliness _loneliness –_

He looks up. Asaph is crying too.

Get out of my head, he wants to say. But Asap is holding him so gently, whispering soothing words, smoothing worried fingers across the palm of his hand, and –

He feels a blanket of fog settle over him. Calming. Smothering.

His head fills with static. And this time, it stays.


	9. Chapter 9

He hasn’t been in Neverwinter since the start of the summer, but Taako quickly reacquaints himself with the house. His vicious pacing carries him circles through the halls, the carpeted floor becoming marching grounds for restless feet that refuse to let him still. Where he was heavy-limbed and exhausted only hours ago, Taako now feels wide-eyed and _painfully_ awake, all too aware that this is real, this is happening, this isn’t another nightmare, Angus is missing, Angus is _actually_ missing _._

 It’s only been a few hours since Kravitz’s explanation—and Taako’s subsequent demand to be brought him— but Taako already feels like he’s been through the stages of grief about a hundred times, except obviously minus the acceptance part because _fuck no_ he’s not about to just accept this garbage. He’d been stuck on anger for a while at first. That part was… rough. He yelled at Kravitz. Then Lup, once she showed up. Then both of them. Repeatedly.

Because _seriously?_ Angus had been missing for _three fucking days_ —or maybe more, since the last time Kravitz had a _ctually_ seen him had been _Friday_ —and nobody had thought to tell him until literally _just now?_

But as much as it made him feel better, yelling wasn’t going to get them anywhere. There was no righteous fury to be doled out here, no threat to blast to smithereens. Just Kravitz and Lup. Who were worried sick, who’d been searching nonstop. Besides, Kravitz—self-deprecating idiot that he was—probably already blamed himself for this whole thing. And it really wasn’t fair, for him to shoulder that alone.

It’s not like Taako had been there either.

So, throat tight, he decided no more yelling. For now.

Unfortunately, all that left him with was worrying. Which was just as useless, and left him feeling about twice as awful.

He’s just gotten off the phone with Ren. Once he’d calmed down, he called to cancel his tours for the next two days. Told her that he’d call if he was going to be able to come back, but that if she didn’t hear from him, the tour was over. Full refunds, all that jazz.

Now he’s at home, alone, and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself. Hence the pacing.

About an hour ago, Lup and Kravitz went down to the station to talk to some of the detectives they’ve got working Angus’s case. Taako opted to stay back. He’d been away, he’d hardly spoken to Angus in _weeks_ – there was no reason for him to go along, nothing of use he could offer the detectives.

Plus they’re probably all morons anyway. It’s been three days and they’ve got nothing – no leads, no suspects. Fucking amateurs. There’s only one detective Taako would ever actually trust with something this important, and he’s the one who’s MIA right now.

 _Fuck,_ he really hates that thought.

There are kids outside, in the street. Taako can hear them playing through the window in the parlour, voices carrying, loud and carefree, on the summer breeze. It’s a perfect day, bright and sunny and warm. And it’s starting to make him sick _._ He finds himself retreating further into the house, just to get away from their shouts of laughter.

His feet take him to Angus’s room. Inside, the floor is littered with things. Piles of old clothes, a set of crumpled old playing cards, a few carefully polished pieces of silverware—and doesn’t _that_ send a pleasant stab of guilt through his heart—and at least three boxes of old journals. He catches the title of the nearest one, the letters curled in Angus’s careful scrawl.

_Mystery Notebook: Volume 7._

Taako’s eyes narrow.

If it were the other way around.

If it were the other way around, if it were _him_ missing, Angus would probably have a whole notebook already devoted to solving the mystery.

Angus would solve the mystery.

He blinks, startled, the thought caught like a fly from the air.

So think like Angus. Solve the fucking mystery.

He bites his lip. Shit, it’s probably a dumb idea. He’s never gotten perception roles like the kid, but.

But it’s worth a try, right?

He takes out his Stone of Far Speech. Calls Angus. Calls and calls and calls, and stands in each corner of the room, then starts circling the house. Just to make sure he can’t hear it ringing, stuffed under a couch cushion somewhere.

A thought.

It’s ringing. It’s at least ringing. Which means… what?

Well. Which means it’s _somewhere_ , he supposes. Somewhere, and not destroyed. Not burnt to a crisp in a fire, or crushed under a landslide, or –

Okay, too much.

He slides the chain with Stone back around his neck, but not before he makes sure the volume’s all the way up. It’s not that he expects Angus to call, it’s just. Well. It’s just in case.

He stands by the window and taps his foot, thinking. What do detectives even _do?_

The sun is still blazing outside. The children are playing some kind of game, running from one patch of shade to another, feet slapping the cobblestone streets.

Legwork.

Detectives do legwork. They walk around. Question people. Snoop.          

Taako takes a deep breath.

Alright. Time to make the little guy proud.

 Lup and Kravitz told him they’d already been around to most of the neighbours, and that the militia actually _specifically_ asked them not to do that anymore, because apparently “that was their job.” But _fuck that noise._ Taako does what Taako wants.

Bolstered, he sets out. He knocks on every door, slaps on his best TV personality smile, and gets to questioning. But after an hour, he’s already exhausted every house on the block, and he’s got nothing to show. Apparently, they’ve got some real imperceptive neighbours. No one’s seen shit.

 _Fine,_ he thinks bitterly, a little breathless. The militia can have their _stupid_ job.

Still, he’s not giving up yet. He makes a few more rounds of the neighbourhood, then branches out to the whole district. He’s generous with his spell slots along the way – Locate Item on Angus’s glasses, Locate Creature on Angus himself, he even tries Scrying—all to no avail.

Think like a detective, he tells himself. Not a wizard.

He tries to think of as many boring places as he can. Places Angus might like. He goes to the library, the museum, the aquarium. The stupid duck pond Angus always likes to visit. _Fuck it_. He goes to the school.

The campus is mostly empty as he and Garyl trot through, the students all home for the summer, but a few staff still seem to be around. It’s mid-afternoon now, but Taako bets the person he’s looking for is the kind of guy who doesn’t have anything better to do but work well past the standard nine-to-five. He tries his luck in a big monstrosity of a building that says _Technology Center_ across the front, and _finally_ gets his first win of the day. Lucas Miller is in his third-floor office, pouring over a long scroll with a disassembled robot spread out across his desk.

He looks up when Taako bursts into the room and  eyes go comically wide.

“Ah, T-Taako!” He jumps to his feet. “What a surprise! What’s –”

“Yes hello it’s great to see you too,” Taako says, waving a hand as though to physically dispel any oncoming questions. “Listen, have you seen Angus lately?”

“Uh, w-what?” Lucas scratches his head. “No? I mean, no. It’s summer?”

Taako’s ears twitch. He’s never liked Lucas. Ever since the whole _nearly destroying the whole world_ thing. He starts moving around the desk, carefully eyeing its contents, just in case it’s something that might accidently _destroy the whole world_ again.

“You sure?”

Lucas lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, pretty sure. I mean, I think I’d recognize my best student if I saw him.”

Damn right he’s your best, Taako thinks. Out loud he says, “You offered him a job this summer, didn’t you?”

Lucas blinks. Then, weirdly, glares. “What, did you come all this way just to rub it in?”

Taako pauses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 _“Of course_ you did. You’re _Taako._ I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Lucas!” He snaps his fingers. “Not the time, okay? What did you mean by that?”

Lucas scowls for another second, then seems to deflate. “ _Yes,_ I offered him a job. I was really hoping he’d take it. We’re working on some really cutting-edge stuff right now; he’d be in his element here. But…”

“But?” Taako prompts.

“But he didn’t want it. He said he wanted to spend the summer at home,” he shrugs. “With his family. With you, I guess.” Lucas casts a long look over his desk and sighs. “I’m not mad or anything. I mean, I know he’s still just a kid, but he showed so much enthusiasm for the material, I thought maybe – Taako?”

It takes him longer than it should to realize Lucas has stopped talking. He doesn’t answer, at first. He doesn’t think he can. There’s a sharp ache in his chest.

“Taako, are you – uh, are you okay?”

“Really?” he finally asks, voice small. “Angus said that?”

Lucas frowns. “Taako, what’s going on?”

Whatever Lucas sees on his face is starting to make him looking really worried, so Taako turns away. His feet start moving, almost of their own accord, and he’s out the door before Lucas can even call out again. Wordless, eyes staring straight ahead, he moves like a man bewitched, somehow making it back outside without ever fully registering where he’s going.

He hits the sidewalk, panting like he’s just ran a marathon, and stares hard at the pavement. The sun beats down on the back of his neck. His eyes sting.

_He wanted to spend the summer at home. With his family._

_With you._

He thinks of Angus, at home. Alone. Every day, for almost the entire summer.

“ _Fuck_.”

The word hisses out from between clenched teeth, voice shakier than he’d even like to admit. Fuck fuck _fuck._

Strike two for Taako, World’s Shittiest Parental Figure.

He stays there for an embarrassingly long time, glaring down at his feet like they’ve somehow betrayed him. He stays until he can compose himself, until he can swallow the nausea and straighten his shoulders and let out a breath that doesn’t sound like it’s been wheezed out by a stabbing victim.

There’s nothing here. No clues to his mystery. He should get out of here, head back home, try to come up with a plan that doesn’t fucking _suck._ Before Kravitz can worry, before _stupid fucking Lucas_ can see him like this.

His Stone rings.

Taako tears it from the chain so fast it nearly snaps.

“Hello?” he says, voice ragged.

“Taako? I-Is everything okay?”

It’s Kravitz. Only Kravitz.

“Fuckin’ peachy.”  

He closes his eyes, strangling back any more sharp words. No yelling, he reminds himself. He promised no more yelling.

“Are you home?” Kravitz asks.

“No, I…” He hesitates. “I went for a walk. How’d it go with the militia?”

“We just finished,” Kravitz says. “They’re printing some signs tonight, and they’re going to put them up first thing tomorrow.”

Missing person signs. Fucking _fantastic._ That’ll definitely solve all their problems.

“We’ve also,” Kravitz says, “started calling some the others.”

“Others?”

Kravitz hums. “Extended family, you know. Magnus, Merle, Lucretia. Davenport, just as soon as we can reach him.”

Taako waits.

“And his parents.”

He closes his eyes. Lets a breath rattle out of him.

“His _parents_.”

“Just in case.” Kravitz says carefully. “It’s just in case, Taako. They don’t think. I mean. He wouldn’t. Go back to them.”

“Right,” Taako says. “He wouldn’t.” _He wouldn’t._

There’s a pause.

“Should I –” Kravitz falters. “Do you want me to come get you?”

Taako pinches the bridge of his nose. “No,” he says, at length. “I can walk. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Kravitz doesn’t sound convinced. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Taako says. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Kravitz says. He clears his throat. “Then… I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“I love you.”

Taako hums. “Love you too, Krav.”

“Get home safe.”

“I will.”

Taako begins to walk as soon as he hangs up. The heat isn’t as bad this late in the day, but it’s still a long way home from this side of town. He’s got the spell slot, but doesn’t summon Garyl. Just walks, and stares straight ahead, and tries very, very hard to think absolutely nothing at all.

He almost succeeds, making it as far as the market before his ears twitch at a cheery jingle from a door across the street. The sign above the door looks familiar, and it only takes him a few seconds to remember. It’s that café Angus really likes. The one he always says can make a hot cocoa as good as Taako’s own homemade recipe.

Hm.

He almost keeps walking.

But. Well. He’s been play acting the boy wonder all day. Why stop now?

The atmosphere inside is cozy without being stifling. He’s greeted with air warmed with the smell of fresh coffee and a bright, “Good afternoon!” as soon as he steps in. Murmurs of conversation drift from the tables. In one corner, someone strums a guitar. He can see why Angus likes it here.

He orders a hot cocoa. Tips generously. Wraps his hands around the steaming cup and takes a sip.

Fuck.

It tastes exactly like key-lime Go-Gurt.

 _Fucking_ fuck. He forgot about that.

Shame slices through him, vicious as any blade, and he _knows_ it’s stupid, it’s just a drink, calm down Taako, it’s just a _fucking drink_. Still, he can’t help the ways his hands trembles when he tosses the cup into the trash bin, can’t help but think _idiot,_ fucking _idiot,_ some fucking detective he is, how he _forget?_

How could he forget?

“Ah, sir, one moment please!”

He freezes with a hand on the door, just about to leave, and turns to see an old dwarven woman dawdling out from behind the counter. She smiles, a notebook in hand. Taako’s lips twist into a bitter smile. Oh great. A fan. He’s just about to start with the old “now’s not really a good time for autographs” when he spots the cover of the book.

_Mystery Notebook: Volume 8._

“You’re Angus’s, uh, father, aren’t ya?”

“Where did you get that?” His eyes snap to her face, ear flattening.

The smile drops. “Well now,” she bristles. “I was just going to _say_ , young mister Angus left this here the other day. I thought you could return it to him.”

Shit. Fuck. Is she lying? How do detectives tell when people are lying? But she’s holding it out to him, and why would she even bring it up if she weren’t being honest?

“I – he – yes.” Taako manages, tone easing. “Yes, I can. Give it back to him.” He clears his throat. “I will.”

He takes the book, pulse leaping as he looks it over. Same book, same title, same careful scrawl. It’s definitely Angus’s.

“Thank you,” he exhales. And then again, louder. “Thank you.”

She nods, seemingly placated. “Not a problem. You get that back to him now. He’s got it near every time I see him. He must be going mad without it.”

Taako almost lets her go before he remembers. Think like a detective. Think like Angus.

“He left this here?” he blurts out.

The woman actually laughs a little. “Well, I didn’t steal it from him if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I just – When was he here?”

She pauses, presses her lips together and taps her chin. “Now let me think here. I believe it was Sunday afternoon. Sheryl found it when she was cleaning up, right before closing.”

Sunday. Angus was here on Sunday. It’s Wednesday now. That means he really has only been gone for three days. Three days, at the _very most._

Still a long time. Too long.

That was three days Taako hadn’t been there for him. Three more, on top of dozens and dozens of days Taako hadn’t been there for him. Days that Angus had been alone. Days he had put aside an amazing job to be with a family that couldn’t be bothered to put aside time to be with him. A family that could barely be bothered to call once a week. A family that had left him behind, all summer, without a second thought.

He looks down at the notebook, seeing the hours Angus must have taken filling it, the hours he spent alone.

Most importantly, he sees what a detective would see – what _Angus_ would see.

A lead.


	10. Chapter 10

Time passes indiscernibly. Minutes bleed into hours bleed into days – it feels like no time has passed at all. The house grows familiar, sounds soft and colours muted. It no longer feels like a prison, no longer crowded and threatening at every corner. The clutter, once overwhelming, now feels natural, each item in its perfect place. And like a word on the tip of his tongue, he realizes he should know these things, he should _remember._

They were his once, in his past lives.

He wakes one morning and leaves his room without his wand, without his map, still on the bedside table. He doesn’t need it anymore. He knows this place, this is his _home._

He’s safe here.

He wanders aimlessly, his thoughts slow and his actions slower. Asaph walks or sits with him sometimes, and his presence like fire, piecing the dull haze and radiating warmth and reassurance. Sometimes he speaks, but Angus doesn’t always catch the words. Other times, he just smiles and strokes Angus's hair, his face, his hands.

Once, Angus shied away.

Now, he's still. Now, his thoughts are full of static.

Moments of clarity spike through the haze—flashes where’s he’s furious or terrified or panicked, where his hands tremble and his heart races, where the house loses its glow, where all he can think is _I have to get out of here –_

But Asaph is always there—soothing, calming, _safe—_ and the moment always passes. And Angus always remembers.

He isn’t scared, like he was with his first family. He isn't lonely, like he was with his second.

He's safe here.

 

* * *

 

Taako radiates with pent-up energy, back ramrod straight and fists clenched at his sides. He’s in Neverwinter’s southern district, Lup and Barry beside him on the front steps of an nondescript townhouse, the morning sun hot on their backs.

Last night, they’d both been over when Taako all but burst through the front door, wide-eyed and winded, Angus’s journal clutched tight to his chest. After a rushed explanation of the days events, they poured over the notes together, quickly finding the most recent set. The Mystery of Mr. Fluff the Missing Cat, marked _Solved!_ in bright red pen.

It was dated last Sunday.

For the first time since this all started, Taako had felt genuine hope. This could be it – the answer to everything, right in front of them! The last place Angus had been, the last person he had seen.

 “What are we waiting for?” Kravitz had asked. “We need to question this woman.”

“It’s pretty late, guys,” Barry said patiently. “We can’t just barge into a stranger’s house in the middle of the night. We should take this to the militia and let them do their job.”

“You really think they can handle it better than the four of us?” Lup said. “Look around, babe. We’ve got two of the world’s most powerful wizards, a genius necromancer, oh, and by the way, Death himself over here.”

Barry only shrugged. “Taako, Kravitz, it’s up to you. What do you want to do?”

What he _wanted_ was to fly to this Millie Hillwater’s house and cast a few Magic Missiles around until she told him everything she knew. What he w _anted_ was find whoever had taken his kid and wring the life from their neck. What he _wanted_ was _Angus back._

“I want to handle this,” he said instead. “I need to handle this.”

The night crawled by, Taako so anxious he almost felt numb, watching the clock with exhausted eyes that refused to close for even five minutes of meditation. Worse still was when, around 3AM, Kravitz had felt the familiar tug of the Raven Queen around his thoughts.

Taako wasn’t mad, exactly. Or at least, he wasn’t mad at _Kravitz_. He got it. A deity wasn’t exactly someone you could take a vacation day from.

But _fuck._ It still sucked.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, love,” Kravitz vowed, voice thick with guilt, lips cold against Taako’s nervous hands. “I promise.”

Lup and Barry were still free, thank the gods, and both remained faithfully by his side the whole night. The moment the sun was up, so were the three of them, setting out across town with single-minded determination.

Despite a promise to Lup to “stay cool,” Taako starts hammering on the front door the moment he reaches it. For a minute, there’s no response, and Taako can already feel his blood pressure rising. He’s just about ready to Wall of Force the thing down when a voice from inside calls out, “One moment, please!”

The door opens on an older human woman, warm smells drifting from somewhere in the house beyond. She smiles, a large cat pawing at her slippers.

“And who might you be?” Mrs. Hillwater asks.

Taako’s not above scaring old ladies, and if this woman turns out to have hurt his boy, he won’t hesitate to Scorching Ray her ass directly into the Astral Plane. Still, she seems… normal enough. He casts a quick True Sight, just to be sure.

“Hello ma’am,” says Barry, who Taako’s agreed to let do most of the talking. “We’re wondering if you could help us. We’re looking for our nephew, and we think he may have been by here on Sunday to help find, um…” He looks down. “Mr. Fluff?”

Mrs. Hillwater’s eyes brighten. “Oh, you mean Caleb? What a sweet boy he was!”

Barry frowns. “Uh, no, sorry, that’s not –”

“That’s him,” Taako cuts in. There’s a pang in his chest – sad or fond, he can’t quite tell. _Of course_ he used the name Caleb. The little nerd.

“Yes, yes, he was such a lovely young man,” Mrs. Hillwater says. “And a sharp eye! He found Mr. Fluff here down in the gardens. Said he was hiding under the supply shed. Don’t know why I never looked there myself!” She laughs a little and knocks the side of her head. “Must be my old brain!”

Barry nods. “Right, uh. Well, we were wondering… When exactly was he here?”

“Not too long. It was pretty early, and he found Mr. Fluff awful quick. Like I said, a lovely boy! He was a little scratched up for his troubles—Fluff can be a biter—but he wouldn’t accept a cent!”

“I’m sorry ma’am, could you try to be a little more specific?” Barry asks. “How early exactly?”

“Well, my memory’s not what it used to be, but I think he left a little before 10?” She’s squints, head titled. Taako can tell she’s mostly guessing, and it’s _frustrating,_ but he keeps his mouth shut. Any information she has could be important. Or at least that’s what Angus would probably say.

Barry asks a few more questions. Basic things – can you remember what he was wearing, did he say where he was going when he left, did you notice anything strange – but by then they seem to have hit the end of her usefulness. All she can remember is Angus saying “I should be going now,” before he left. And even then she’s not sure about the exact wording.

Barry finally sighs, shoulders heavy. “Alright, ma’am, that should be all. Thank you for your help.”

Taako has to bite his tongue. It’s not _enough._ This was their _only_ lead, and they hardly know more now than they did yesterday!

Mrs. Hillwater must see his expression, because she frowns. “Caleb’s not in any trouble, is he?”

Lup and Barry exchange a look.

“No,” Lup says at length. “At least, we hope not.” She bites her lip. “He’s missing.”

Mrs. Hillwater’s eyes go wide. “Oh dear! He doesn’t seem like the type to play hooky.”

“He isn’t,” Taako bites.

Mrs. Hillwater gives Barry a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Well, you folks come right on by if you think of any more questions. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She shakes her head. “Oh, his poor grandfather must be so worried.”

Taako freezes.

“His grandfather?”

Mrs. Hillwater nods. “The one who was with him.”

“There was someone _with him?”_ he asks, voice low, just shy of dangerous.

“Yes, an older fellow.” Mrs. Hillwater points across the street. “Right over there. Never did say introduce himself, but I think maybe he was just trying not to embarrass Caleb. You know, while he was _on the job_ and all.”

Taako’s ears go flat, eyes narrow. Something brushes against his hand and he looks up. Lup is giving him a careful look.

He nods.

“Ma’am,” Lup says, turning back. “We need you to tell us everything you can about that man.”

 

* * *

 

 They’ve barely made it half way down the street before Lup whirls on him, eyes wide.

“So it’s his grandpa, right?” she demands. “It has to be! He fits the description – old, human, male.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Barry says.

“Who else could it have been?”

“I don’t know,” Barry says. “I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to –”

“She’s right,” Taako says. They both turn, but he doesn’t meet their eyes. He’s staring at the ground, fists clenched, thinking hard.

He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or terrified. Up until now, he’s been working on the worst-case scenario assumption. Between his adventures and Kravitz’s line of work, they’ve no shortage of enemies. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think that some of them might have taken Angus in retribution – for leverage, or ransom, or any number of fucked up purposes.

This is different. If he really _is_ with his grandfather, then it should be fine. It’s _family._ Even still, it doesn’t sit right that Angus didn’t tell anyone he was going, that he hasn’t been home in so long, that he won’t answer his _damn_ calls.

Taako knows Angus’s grandfather father lives in Neverwinter, and that Angus used to take the train to visit him when he was younger. He also knows that Angus’s grandfather is somewhat estranged from the rest of the family, with Angus himself being the only exception. As far as Angus has ever said, their relationship is fine, is _good,_ is nothing like that with his father.

The first few months after the Day of Story and Song, Angus hardly mentioned his old family, but he had continued paying fairly regular visits to his grandfather. Over time though, the visits seemed to taper off. Taako can hardly remember when the last one was.

Taako never went with him, not wanting to come off as overbearing or jealous, but he remembers trying a few times—in his typical shrewd Taako way—to drop Angus hints that he was fine with it, that Angus more than allowed to continue associating with his family.

But he hadn’t seemed to _want_ to. So after a while, Taako stopped mentioning it. He didn’t blame the kid for wanting to put it all behind him. After all, most of them didn’t even really deserve to be called family.

A family doesn’t fucking hurt you.

If those _motherfuckers_ have hurt his boy –

Nope. Not yet. Gotta focus on finding. Finding now. Killing later.

“Taako?” Lup says, snapping him from his thoughts.

Taako looks up. “We need to find that son of bitch.”

Their first problem is that Taako doesn’t have a _single fucking clue_ where in Neverwinter Old McDonald lives, but Lup solves this issue quickly enough by opening a tear into the lobby of the Neverwinter Militia Station. Five minutes and a few highly impressive charisma roles later, they’ve got an address.

Lup and Barry aren’t as skilled with the tears yet as Kravitz; they need to know exactly where they’re going in order to open a portal there. So there’s no teleporting this time. With a few Phantom Steeds, they still manage to make it to an apartment complex across the city in under an hour, but every second wasted has Taako’s heart racing. They’re on the edge of something, some discovery – they’re _close._

He leaps of Garyl and races up the steps into the building, the others close on his heels, then pounds on the door of the apartment in question for what feels like at least a solid minute before a semi-dressed teenager finally answers.

He skips the _hail and well met_. “We’re looking for Theodore McDonald. He in here?”

“Uuhhh, what?” the girl says. She looks half asleep.

“Theodore McDonald. Old dude. Gray hair, probably. He here or no?” Taako’s foot taps madly.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, dude.”

“Listen kid,” Lup says. “We have official records saying he lives here.”

The kid actually looks around. “Apartment 404?”

Lup’s eye twitches. “ _Yeah._ We know how to read.”

“Well, sorry, man. There’s no one here but me and my dog soooo…” she trails off, scratching her head.

Lup’s hand inches towards her wand.

Barry steps forward. “Do you have a landlord in this building?”

“Uh, yeah?”

They wait.

The kid stares.

Taako snaps. “ _Holy shit,_ what’s their _address?_ ”

The girl yawns, unperturbed. “Shit, dude. Apartment 304.”

Taako whirls away before he can do something he’ll regret.

Downstairs, _thank fuck,_ they find the landlord, and Barry quickly gets to questioning. The good news is that she _does_ recognize the name.

The bad news is that, apparently, Theodore McDonald moved out a year ago. And was admitted to an long-term care facility.

Taako is just about ready to pull his fucking hair out. Of course they have the wrong address, of _fucking_ course, what else did he expect? For something to actually go their way for once?

Outside, Lup tries to take his arm, but Taako shrugs her off, wordlessly summoning Garyl before setting off at full tilt. He senses Lup and Barry don their reaper forms, flying just to keep up. Lup might be trying to talk to him, but he ignores her, focused only on the rushing wind, on the thundering hooves against the cobblestone.

They’ve been wandering around the city for _hours_ now _._ They’re wasting time! Time in which Angus is _god-knows-where._ It’s like they’re being led in circles – one minute feeling like he’s finally gotten somewhere, the next realizing he’s just as far as when he started. How do real detectives _do_ this shit?

Lup and Barry finally catches up to him as they reach the front doors of the care facility. Taako dispels Garyl and straightens himself out – they won’t let him in if he looks like he’s about to fucking kill somebody.

Still, Lup plants herself between him and the nurse at the front desk, and in a voice far more composed than Taako feels, says, “We’re looking for a Mr. Theodore McDonald.”

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name,” the nurse says, glancing over a few papers. “But let me find the head nurse and see if he can take visitors right now.”

They wait in the lobby. Taako paces in vicious circles while Lup and Barry sit, looking no less anxious. They’re wasting time, they’re _still wasting time._

Barry bites his nails. Lup wrings her hands. On Taako’s tenth lap of the room, she reaches out as if to still him, then seems thinks better of it.

When the nurse finally reappears, they both spring to their feet, but Taako’s there first.

“So?” he demands, crowding him back against the door. “Where is he? We need to talk to him.”

The nurse bites his lip. He won’t meet Taako’s eye. “Sir, I’m very sorry –”

Taako just about _loses_ it.

“No, nuh-uh. Fuck this. _Fuck_ this! No more excuses. No more setbacks.”

“Sir –”

“We _need_ to see him!” Taako shouts. “His grandson is missing— _my son is missing—_ and _he_ is a suspect! _I need to see him!_ ”

“S-Sir, please!” the nurse stammers. “I need you to calm down. Mr. McDonald is –”

“Where is he?”

“– _dead!”_ the nurse gasps. “He passed away over six months ago!”

Silence drops like an anvil.

His next words die, air rushing out like a punch to the stomach. His anger drains, leaving him dizzy.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the nurse says, flushed. Taako can hardly hear the words. “Please take as much time as you need here. If there’s anything else we can do, please… please speak to the staff at the front desk.”

He scurries away, leaving the room in a stunned silence.

Six months.

His fists uncurl. He feels _cold._

 _Six_ months.

Angus never told him.

No.

He never asked.

A hand on his shoulder, touch light and uncertain.

“Taako,” Lup says. “There’s – There’s no way you could have known…”

Yes, he could have. He _should_ have.

But he never _asked._

His hands start to shake.

“Taako…”

He never asked, and now he doesn't even have the chance, can't even fucking _apologize_ , because Angus is  _gone._ Angus is gone and Taako can't get to him, can't make this right. Angus is gone and Taako never tried, never cared, never even fucking  _asked._

"Taako, come on, please look at me."

He does, and her eyes are wide, glistening wet, and she's trying to comfort him.  _Actually_ comfort him.Like he deserves it, like this isn't  _entirely_ his fault.

He feels sick.

He pushes her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was that a bit of an abrupt ending? .... maybe. but you either die an important plot point or live long enough to see yourself become a pointless emotional fallout scene AM I RIGHT
> 
> In other news y'all leave some of the nicest reviews, I got teary-eyed at like 2am yesterday just looking over some of the comments it was gross :') I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read and leave kudos and reviews, like they really mean a lot to me and I treasure each one, so just THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!


	11. Chapter 11

The clock on the nightstand reads just past 2AM.

Taako’s in bed but far from asleep. He lays there, for once cursing his dark vision as he stares up at the ceiling, listless as he counts the cracks in the paint. There’s a metaphor there, he thinks. Probably. Cracks in the ceiling, the kinds you never notice until one day the whole thing comes crashing down on top of you.

Or something like that.

His mind is a live wire, somewhere between exhausted and chaotic, a dozen trains of thought twisting like misfired spells, breaking off only to spark to life again. Scenes from the day keep flashing through his head – worry, fear, anger. Hope, for just a moment, that they had finally found an answer.

Then shock. Guilt. Shame.

Lup’s voice. _You couldn’t have known._

Six months. Theodore McDonald died six months ago. And Angus never told him.

Why didn’t Angus _tell him?_

More importantly, how _the hell_ didn’t Taako know?

Angus _loved_ his grandfather. He would have been heartbroken when he passed. And Taako didn’t even _notice._ Gods, was he really that terrible of a parent?

_You couldn’t have known._

She’s wrong. He should have known. He _would_ have, if he’d just paid attention. If he’d just he’d _been there._

He scrubs his face. His breath hitches, frustration and sorrow in equal measure. His eyes sting, but he fights it back. Man up, Taako. You don’t get to feel _sorry_ for yourself.

When he lowers his hands, a faint light pierces the darkness, seeping like fog from a thin tear across the room.

Kravitz emerges, dawning his human form, and for a long moment, he’s still. He stands, shoulders slumped, head bowed. He looks exhausted.

The portal swallows itself, casting them back into darkness.

Kravitz doesn’t move.

Taako slowly pulls back the sheets.

They’re both silent as Kravitz sheds his cloak and slides into bed. He’s ice cold, and still smells like sharp, salty air of the Astral Plane, but his arms are strong and familiar around him. Taako turns into the embrace. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in.

“Lup called,” Kravitz whispers, breath cool against Taako’s neck. “She told me what happened today.”

Cowardly though it makes him feel, Taako’s thankful. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to.

“I’m sorry,” Kravitz says. “I should have been there.”

“‘S fine,” Taako mumbles. “Can’t exactly ask for time off.”

Silence settles over them. Kravitz arms tighten.

 _Gods,_ Taako’s so fucking tired. Of everything. He just wants to shut it all out. He wants it to be over. He wants Angus back.

He’s so smothered in his own misery, it actually takes him a few minutes to register the feeling spreading across his shoulder, cold and damp.

Taako rockets upright, shrugging out of Kravitz’s arms.

“Hey,” he says, urgent even as he lays a cautious hand on his cheek. “Krav, look at me. Babe.”

“I should have been there,” Kravitz manages. His voice is _wrecked._ “I should have been there for him.”

Taako’s chest goes tight. Fuck. _Fuck._ He strokes Kravitz’s cheek as softly as he can, but it’s unsteady. What should he say? What _can_ he say?

“We _both_ fucked up,” he whispers. “We both _really_ fucked up. We both should have –” his voice breaks. But Kravitz is crying. Kravitz shouldn’t be crying. “You can’t blame this all on yourself. You didn’t know –”

_You couldn’t have known._

“But we are going to _find him,_ ” he says. His nails dig in to Kravitz’s shoulders, _certain._ “Krav, we are going to fucking find him. And we are going to _do better._ ”

He thinks of Angus, alone on the train when they first met. Alone in his dorm in the Bureau of Balance. Alone in his new home, years later. Alone when he heard the news of his grandfather’s death. Alone when disappeared.

“ _I_ am going to do better,” he swears. “I’m going to do all sorts of stupid dad shit. I’m going to teach him to cook, teach him to duel, play all those old card games _._ I’m going to _be there_ , and when I’m not, I’m going to call him _every_ single day.” There are tears on his face now too. Fuck it. _Fuck it._ “I’m going to stop being a _dumbass_ a-and – and tell him I _love_ him.”

Kravitz surges forward, pulling him in to a hug so tight it almost hurts. Taako grips back, desperate.

“We’re going to be there for him,” he says. “Together.”

Kravitz is still trembling, but he feels him nod. “Together.”

Taako sniffles. Ugh. Emotions are gross. He’s not letting go though. “Hell yeah,” he murmurs.

Kravitz’s shoulder shake, but it’s just laughter this time. _Thank god_.

 

* * *

 

They open their eyes to familiar sights.

Their room is draped in the tokens of past lives, their memories vibrant even through the dust of disuse that settles over them. Beyond the window, the sun is already high. They are pleased. The extra hours of sleep will serve them well; they require plenty of energy today.

Today is an important day.

Today, they complete the connection.

The fragment slept for nearly a full day after the first step – when they absorbed his memories. And today, they are completing the last – the transfer of their memories into him, until the last of the separation between them is erased and they are prepared to Amalgamate him fully.

 It will not be easy. It rarely is. The blending of memories can be strenuous on the minds affected, especially if those minds are not yet open and willing to accept it. 

And the fragment has so far proven surprisingly… stubborn. Not as stubborn as some, but more difficult than they’d hoped. Even now, they can occasionally feel him thrashing beneath their influence, his mind stretched taut, twisting, rejecting their presence.

They cannot admonish him too firmly, however. They know firsthand—all thirty-four of them—how frightening the first few stages of the connection can feel, when the minds have blended before the souls have accepted each other.

It will all be worth it soon. Once the Amalgamation is complete, once this missing fragment has found its rightful place within them, all will be well. All traces of separation will be gone. They will be whole.

They stand from their bed, feeling their old joints creak in protest. Their current form is growing old – soon it will soon be more of a hinderance that it is worth. They shall have to find a suitable vessel as well as a suitable mind for their next fragment. Perhaps another elf. The last one was exquisite, and it was so _convenient_ not to have to worry about an aging body for so long.

The current fragment’s body won’t do. He’s still too young. It may hinder future travel and the difficult work of finding the next fragment. There’s also the added complication of those still looking for him. His so-called family contains some as powerful as they are obstinate. They’re more likely to track them if they uses the fragment’s body, or, not understanding the process of Amalgamation, think him possessed and feel they must try to _save him._

The thought is frustrating, but they stifle their annoyance. They cannot let themselves worry, or the fragment will feel their distress. The emotional connection is difficult in this way. The fragment’s own feelings they are usually able to subdue within themselves, but anything they feel too strongly tends to cause ripple effects that feed back into him.

They cannot have him agitated today. They need him docile and malleable in order for the final connection to take hold.

They reach out their senses and feel themselves drawn to his presence. He is in his temporary bedroom, a pleasing sight among the clean, white sheets. Quiet, still. A blank slate.

His eyes are dull, but he feels them approach. He sits up, a slow smile climbing his face. They say nothing—no words needed between them to express what they are both feeling—and take his hand. They lead him back down the hall, to the bedroom that will soon be his too.

He pauses once, in the doorway, expression clouded.

They feel it too. Confusion. Fear. Where am I? What’s happening? Where’s –

“Hush, my child,” they whisper. They project comfort and safety until he relaxes, his mind a soothing lull of static. They guide him, listless and compliant, onto their bed.

They settle beside him, hands still clasped together. They close their eyes.

Today is an important day.

They take a deep breath, pooling their magic.

Today, they complete the connection.


	12. Chapter 12

A memory.

The streets of Goldcliff are rarely kind to beggars, even on the best days. Days like today though, when the snow is coming down hard and the winds seem to cut like knives through his threadbare scarf, he has to call it quits before he’s even scrambled together more than a handful of coins.

His fingers are numb as he walks, the coins clutched tight to his chest, head ducked against the cold.

It’s no good, he keeps thinking. It’s no good, it’s no good. There’s no way the kids will be able to get a full meal out of this. Aya is still getting over a fever – she needs her strength. And Tirish, the newest to join their group, is still _so young._

It infuriates him to see so many young ones turned away from the local shelter. She’s so tiny she can hardly walk! They have room for her. He _knows_ they do!

But they won’t take orcs.

So he takes them instead.

He doesn’t much to offer. He’s gathered old crates from the docks, plywood and planks from abandoned construction sites. He's rummaged in dumpsters and pillaged clotheslines left out to dry over night. He found a tight alleyway—as sheltered from the wind as possible—and built a makeshift shelter, roof slanted with buckles beneath to pool runoff water, walls insulated with whatever scraps of cloth he could spare.

He's been living on the streets since he was a kid himself – a half orc abandoned by an ashamed mother, turned away again and again from countless shelters, rejected at job after job. He knows what it’s like, what life has in store for them. He can help them, feed them and shelter them, and when they get old enough, he can show them how to do it for themselves.

He’s getting closer now. He quickens his steps, eager to escape the cold. Or try to, at least. The kids will have a fire going by now, hopefully. 

The streets of Goldcliff are rarely kind to beggars, even on the best days.

But today, someone smiles as he passes. She’s dressed in all white, as pale as the snow itself.

She reaches out to him, her eyes a shimmering kaleidoscope, and whispers his name in a voice that promises safety.

He pauses.

“Sleep.”

And he does.

 

* * *

 

 He’s never cold anymore.

Never hungry. Never spit on or shoved at where he squats on the curb. Asaph is warmth, full meals, and kind words.

“We aren’t going to hurt you,” she tells him, and, “This is the first step of the connection,” and, “We’re going to be together, forever.”

“Where am I?” he asks one day. “I want to go home.”

Something isn’t right. His voice is distant, murky. He almost doesn’t recognize it.

There’s a loud buzzing in his ears.

Asaph smooths his hair and smiles, and his nervous hands settle.

“Your home isn’t out there,” she says. “It never was.”

They were awful to him out there.

“They were awful to you out there.”

His home in in here, with Asaph.

“Your home is in here, with us.”

He remembers. _We have seen into your mind._ He’s heard it so many times, in so many lives.

But –

But the _kids –_

“We are your family now,” Asaph tells him. “You are safe here,” and, “We love you,” and -

Static.

Angus is never cold anymore.

 

* * *

 

 Another memory.

The fragment is an artist. She paints breathtaking landscapes – rivers that cut canyons through the earth and trees so lifelike they seem to sway in the breeze. She paints cities humming with life, sprawling and lit from within. She paints portraits that capture the very sound of one’s laughter in the curve of a smile and the soft wrinkles around the eyes.

She’s extraordinarily gifted. And she’ll only get better, with the years ahead of her now – with eternal life, to be reborn again and again within them. She’ll make a wonderful addition.

Asaph flickers through her memories, lets them bleed into their own.

On the first day of her new life, she wakes in a stranger’s house. For a time, she’s scared, then cautious, then shocked, then _furious._

The stranger is eerily kind, soft-spoken and patient. They feed her, clothe her, give her brushes and canvases of every size, colours in every shade imaginable. They tell her they want to help her be happy. That she’s safe.

And she _hates_ them. She doesn’t want this, she wants to go _home_ –

Then, one morning, she wakes in the stranger’s house, and they’re not a stranger anymore.

Asaph feels the change. In their mind, the fragment is now muted and calm where she was once raging. Through their shared vision, they watch as she begins to paint, happy. Safe.

She paints a self-portrait with eyes that seem to dance with swirling colours. Then she paints another, and another, and another, until the floor around her is littered with the faces of her past lives, each remembered, first-hand, in perfect, timeless detail.

Angus recognizes every single one.

 

* * *

 

 And another.

She lies in a hospital bed. From her window, she watches the shadows creep across the earth in the fading light, eyes dull. Eventually, the sky grows dark, until all there is left to see by is the light of the stars. But she doesn't look away. She doesn't move. She doesn’t speak. She hardly breathes.

She's been this way for weeks.

Every morning is met with this silence. Every meal brought by the healers goes untouched, turns cold with the hours that pass before someone returns to take it away.

She’s not quite four-hundred. Still young for an elf. But she is withered from disease, never fully recovered from the famine that ravaged her village years ago. The fighting had been brutal, half the men slaughtered in a fortnight. The crops all razed, the walled fortress that once stood tall around them burned down. The warlords had been ruthless in their hunt for the Oculus Lens.

They decimated the village. They butchered her neighbours, her friends. Her children.

She’s not quite four-hundred. Still young for an elf.

Her children had been even younger.

The food beside her grows colder by the minute. She doesn’t touch it. She watches the stars, even as they fade behind the distant light of sunrise. She hopes this one might finally be the last.

She wants to be with her children again. She wants to be whole again.

Across the room, the door swings open like a sigh. Another healer, come again to take the tray. She doesn’t look.

Warm fingers land on the back of her hand.

A soft voice. Glistening eyes.

Static.

Angus wants to be whole again.

* * *

 

 Over and over, he is born, he lives, he Amalgamates. And he never dies.

His lives pass, spanning centuries, over and over. But it's not right, it's never right. He's missing something. He stumbles, he hurts, he grieves, he's scared, he's  _alone -_

He's missing something -

But then it comes to him, it fills him, it takes away the pain and the loneliness. It makes him  _whole._ The missing piece, always smiling, always kind. Bright eyes. Static.

 

* * *

 

 He gasps and twists away. Something holds him down. Tears burn in his eyes, flickering, distant with the sight of memories not his own.

“Shh,” Asaph hushes him, both soft and utterly deafening. From beside, from above, from  _within_. “Do you see now, my child? Do you understand?”

 

* * *

 

 Angus is a scholar in Neverwinter. A traveling composer. An adventurer from Bottlenose Cove.

He remembers the hours spent pouring over notes, the ink spilled over each scroll, the candles burning late into the night, the satisfaction of a new discovery, of a polished dissertation. He remembers the long days, hot under the sun as they rode east, and the time spent practicing his pieces over and over, until his fingers bled, until he knew every note by heart. He remembers the thrill of a new quest, the adrenaline rush of battle, the nights spent under the stars and warmth of the campfire as he slept safe surrounded by his friends.

Do you see now, my child?

He remembers the hollow, bitter feeling of betrayal when his colleague stole his notes, stole his discovery, sold it to the highest bidder. He remembers the sting of rejection when the orchestra turned him away, the disappointment of realizing he would go hungry another night, and that all those weeks on the road had been for nothing. He remembers the screams, the feeling of blood between his fingers, the best friend he’d failed to protect, shuddering in pain before finally going still in his arms, the arrow still lodged in her throat.

He remembers a human with vibrant, swirling eyes. A dwarf, with those same eyes. A tiefling.

A soft voice. A promise.

_Your home is in here, with us._

They want to be whole again.

“Stop it,” Angus gasps. It’s loud. It’s _so loud –_

He remembers –

His wedding day. The birth of his child. The day of the accident. His graduation. The war that killed his father. He remembers being a cleric, a necromancer, a rogue.

Do you understand?

He remembers –

A cold hand, aching. Frigid waters numbing the burn. Pain, yelling, fear, loneliness. Sir, you’re hurting me.

Static a crescendo in his ears. Deafening, eclipsing all else.

He wants to be whole again.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

  

 

 

In a forest not far beyond the gates of Neverwinter, there is a single house. Cracked stone, warped from the years, stands like a whisper among the trees, shrouded beneath them and smothered in a dark and rotted magic.

Beside this house, there is something like a garden, or something like a cemetery.

Thirty-four graves scar the earth, some as old as the house itself, and others with dirt still newly disturbed, a passing breeze that still whispers with the voices of their occupants. Of all these graves, only one is empty, dug just days ago. The dirt here is dark, almost red. The trees seem to shiver at the sight. It is small enough for a child.

Within this house, there is something like a person, or something like thirty-four of them.

The centuries they lived are ages long-passed. Their graves are full, and the earth sick with their blood. The wind carries their ghosts.

But they are not dead.

Those thirty-four souls live on, in ways no living thing ever should. Soon, they will be thirty-five.

A beggar, a painter, a heart-broken mother. A man with eyes much older than himself.

A young boy.

They are - 

Angus is all of these people at once. He is none of them. He is their fear, their laughter, their unsteady breaths. He is their earliest memories and the ones they wish desperately to forget.

He is a static, roaring in their ears. He is a creature that watches them from afar. He is the blood that thrums beneath their skin and the tremors that flutter through their hands. He is their souls, at war and in unison. They rive and twist and fracture, like fissures that distort the reflection of a mirror, like the threads of a spiderweb pulled tight, like keys in discord, in perfect harmony.

He is  _them_. And they are  _him_.

They are the light burning low on the nights he can't sleep. They are cries of cicadas and the early-morning chill, the fog that wraps around him as he waits on the platform, the way the train shudders like it threatens to unravel him, the way the whole world holds its breath when he says, _It's me, grandpa. Do you remember?_

They are the quiet scratch of pen against the pages of his journal. They are the way he counts his heartbeats when his mother starts to shout. They are a moment of perfect silence in a crowd of many thousands.

They are the way his palms sweat and his eyes flicker lightning-quick across the final pages of every Caleb Cleveland novel. They are the smile that splits his face when Taako nods and says,  _Good job, bubuleh_. They are all the unfinished songs Kravitz tried to teach him, the notes he could never get right. They are the way he still flinches when he sees his father.

They are - 

They are - 

They are -

\- whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy I struggled a lot with this chapter! My original plan was to have this be sort of a twisted reflection of chapter 2, with a bunch of scenes/memories from Asaph's POV, arranged in the same style, with similar symbolism, etc. I tried *so hard* to make it work but you guys it was honestly just boring to read. So I kept some stuff and scrapped the rest and did a serious stint of stream-of-consciousness writing at 3am the other day and ultimately this was what I came up with. It doesn't flow exactly as well as I hoped it would but at this point I'm just like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! So sorry about the delay for this chapter, I goofed BIG TIME. I went away for 2 weeks and had planned to post right before I left but between all the packing and planning it somehow slipped my mind. But the next one won't be nearly as long of a wait, I promise! As always, thank you all for your patience and never-ending support! Your comments never fail to brighten my day :)

The rain starts early Friday morning and continues well into the night. Dark clouds hang heavy and low over the city, choking the skyline. Streets empty and shops close up early, windows shuttered tight against furious winds. In the distance, thunder rumbles.

Taako watches, numb to the cold. At least, he thinks bitterly, the weather finally matches the situation.

It’s been five days now.

Despite yesterday’s bad luck, he was up early again today, Lup, Barry, and this time, Kravitz in tow. They looked over earlier pages in Angus’s notebook and paid a few visits to suspects from previous cases, hoping to sniff out if any still harboured grudges. Unfortunately, none matched Mrs. Hillwater’s description of the old man Angus was with. Taako's starting to think their best lead might just have been a fluke of the old lady's memory.

They’ve only been at it for a few hours when the rain starts, torrential and freezing cold. Crowds disperse, shops lock up, people stop answering their doors.

It’s Barry who makes the call.

“We can try again tomorrow.”

Taako feels a flare of old anger. They’re, what, just going to call it quits? Just like that? Angus is still out there, _alone_ , after _five whole days_ , and they’re just going to hope he's even still alive for them to  _try again tomorrow?_

A flicker catches his attention – Lup casts Warmth, a small flame cupped in her hands. She cradles it, heat pulsing in waves and warming the space between them. Taako realizes he’s shivering. He isn't the only one.

He looks around. Barry’s glasses are misted from the rain. Kravitz's wet hair keeps falling into his eyes.

In his hands, the ink in Angus’s notebook is starting to bleed.

“Okay." It's barely a whisper, and he hates it. It feels like giving up. "Okay. Tomorrow.”

Thunder sounds overhead.

 

* * *

 

Angus opens his eyes.

For a long time, he can’t move. Can’t do anything but breathe.

Thoughts come after a few minutes, syrupy-thick and slow. They pulse in time with his heart. His head is pounding, swimming with the memories of the lives he never knew he lived until just now. It feels like a dream, like it could slip away any second. Like  _he_ could slip away. 

He can feel Asaph lying beside him. He doesn’t have to look to know they’re asleep, recovering after the enormous amount of energy required for the blend. Soon, when they are whole, they won’t have to expand energy to share thoughts and memories. What is Asaph’s will be his, and what is his will be Asaph’s. As it should be.

He sits up, blinking, dizzy as the fog in his head recedes. Asaph doesn’t stir.

Rain drums against the window.

Angus looks around. In the low light, he gleans comfort at the sight of familiar things. A half-finished canvas he once painted. An old diary he used to keep. The scarf that never quite kept him warm on those cold nights in Golfcliff. He recognizes these things, knows instinctively what they are, who they used to belong to.

They belong to him now too.

He stands. The window shakes, battered by the winds outside. The sound masks his footsteps as he moves across the room. His hand drags along the surface of an antique dresser, a bookshelf, an easel, leaving trails in the dust. It all feels exactly like he remembers.

Because he _remembers_ now. He remembers _everything._

His head is still spinning, but everything feels soft, blurred like his vision when he can't find his glasses. It's not frightening. Just calm.

He stops at the door, steadying himself. He’s _tired._ He should rest, like he always does after the blend.

But.

But Asaph is asleep. Asaph is asleep, and he isn’t. He should…

He feels like he should be doing something.

He shakes his head, rubs at his eyes. There’s something. Something he wanted to do. Something he once wanted to do.

His hand finds the doorknob without thought, and suddenly he's in the hall. He sees the self-portraits along the wall. Their faces stare back, as blank as when he laid them in their graves. He knows with certainty where each one lies. He dug them himself.

But... He didn’t recognize them before, did he? They scared him before, when he first saw them. This _whole house_ scared him before.

He can’t seem to remember why that was.

His feet bring him the guest room. The door stands ajar, the walls inside blank, the sheets twisted where he left them only hours ago. They're cold now. Cold and white and...  _wrong._

Nothing about this room feels familiar. Nothing about it feels like _his._

He should leave. Why did he come here? This isn't his room anymore. His room is back down the hall, with all of his things. With Asaph.

Isn’t it?

Thunder crashes.

His eyes fall to something on the nightstand. His wand. And something beside it. A piece of paper. Small, neatly folded.

The map he drew when he first came here.

No.

When Asaph first trapped him here.

The thought is fleeting, half-formed. The room spins.

He’s not thinking straight he’s tired he should go back to Asaph he should be resting –

The room ignites in a cold blue as lightning splits the sky. The walls shake with the rumble of thunder, and Angus blinks in its wake.

He stares at the map.

It’s nearly filled in. Only two blank spots remain, circled with small question marks. He remembers drawing them. The basement and the attic.

That’s right. He used to want to explore, to discover things. He used to be a detective.

He stumbles back into the hall so fast he nearly crashes into the wall. He keeps his eyes glued to the map, fingers iron-tight around his wand. Doesn’t look around up at the familiar-not-familiar portraits, doesn't _think_. He reaches the stairs, and the storm gets louder as he climbs to meet it. His head is roaring, his breaths laboured. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep. Not yet.

He reaches the top of the stairs. The door to the attic is locked. It’s always locked. But he casts Knock, like he’s tried so many times, and knows before the spell even leaves the wand that this time, it will work. With Asaph asleep, they can’t block his magic anymore.

The door flies open, stirring dust in the air.

The attic is small and narrow, the walls shake from the rain, the roof deafening with its drum. The air is heavy, almost _rotten_ with age.

He steps inside, and his head spins, split with fear and recognition at what he sees. Old wands, staves, daggers, axes. Enchanted cloaks and jewels. Heaps of old gear, none of which fit Asaph’s current form, but all of which they used once, in another body, in another life. The room feels like it hasn’t been disturbed for decades.

And there, on a small table, the only thing not covered under a thick layer of dust.

His Stone of Far Speech.

He used to. He used to want that once, didn’t he? Desperately. He wanted to. Call someone.

He moves, stumbling, slow. He reaches out. His arms feel leaden, his head like it’s full of cotton. He can't seem to breathe enough.

Who did he want to call? Isn’t he alone? That's what Asaph said. He doesn’t have a family. He doesn't...

Right?

The stone is smooth and cool, the weight familiar in his hands. There’s a name already on the tip of his tongue. Instinctive, like muscle memory.

His lips part.

In a voice so soft he doesn't recognizes it, he speaks.

“Taako.”

 

* * *

 

A shrill sound pierces the air and cuts through the drum of the storm that had been steadily lulling Taako into a meditative sleep.

His eyes snap open and he feels Kravitz jolt, blankets shifting in the darkness. “Wha’s goin' on?”

Before Taako can answer, he hears it again. Loud, from the nightstand. His Stone.

“What the fuck?” He throws back the covers, scrambling over a still-prone Kravitz. His hand fumbles on the nightstand, illuminated in the glow of the clock – 1:09AM.

There’s only one reason someone would be calling at this hour. News about Angus.

He finds the Stone. “Hello?

Kravitz sits up and moves in close, the Stone crowded between them. There’s no response.

He tries again. “Hello?”

The silence stretches. What the fuck. This better not be some prank call.

 _“Hello?”_ he snaps. If this is some stupid kid –

He freezes.

“Angus?”

Kravitz goes rigid, eyes wide. A cold hand squeezes his arm.

“Angus?” he says again. “Pumpkin, is that you?’

More silence. Kravitz’s grip is tight enough to hurt. Taako scarcely dares to breathe.

And then, a voice. Weak. Barely a whisper.

 

* * *

 

“...Taako?”

The word leaves him like a breath, without thought. His vision spins. There’s a sharp pain in his chest.

“Angus!” the voice over the Stone shouts. “Oh god oh god, Angus, are you okay? Where – Where are you? A-Angus? Can you hear me?”

The voice sounds so familiar. But –

He doesn’t know who this is.

“Come on, kid. Please talk to me. I need to know where you are!”

The voice is scared. But Taako doesn’t get _scared_. He’s _Taako_ –

“Angus, _please!”_

There’s a pressure building in his head. A presence.

Beneath him in the house, Asaph is waking up, finding the bed beside him empty. Stretching and calling out with mind, and –

Angus’s mind goes still, responding, reaching back –

Lightning strikes and the room blazes in a brilliant flash, shaking the dust from the rafters and the breath from his lungs.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Angus gasps, heart hammering. “I – _Taako?_ Something’s wrong.”

The air behind him shifts with magic. Angus doesn’t have to turn to know Asaph is there, tired and pale, lips pulled into a worried frown.

Angus can feel it, coiled in his gut. Anger, disappointment, but also sympathy. Understanding.

In his head, static.

The storm suddenly sounds far away, muted. Nothing's wrong, he realizes. Everything is exactly as it should be. Asaph understands him. Asaph is the only one who truly understands him.

He just wants to be whole.

Asaph’s eyes are glowing, lit from within. A warm light in a dark room. He stretches out a hand.

“Angus,” he says. His voice is so familiar. Loving. Safe.

The voice on the Stone is yelling, and Angus remembers it now. He remembers this voice.

He remembers it mocking him on the Rockport Limited, threatening him in the Bureau cafeteria, taunting, laughing, berating. Telling him to go away, telling him he’s too busy to play, _burning_ him –

He remembers it being cruel.

He doesn’t remember it ever speaking to him as kindly as Asaph. Not once.

He drops the Stone.

 

* * *

 

 “Come on, kid. Please talk to me,” Taako pleads. “I need to know where you are!” He’s trembling, gripping the Stone with white-knuckled desperation. “Angus, _please!”_

Angus doesn’t answer. Tears of frustration burn in his eyes and Taako nearly screams –

Thunder crackles through the Stone.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Angus chokes out, voice tiny and achingly far away. “I – _Taako?_ Something’s wrong.” He sounds confused, panicked, _scared._ Oh god, oh fuck, is he hurt? What did they do to him?

And then another voice speaks.

A man’s voice. Just one word.

“Angus.”

Taako’s blood runs cold.

There’s someone else there.

 _There’s someone else there_. They have his boy, they fucking _hurt_ his boy –

He _screams._ “Don’t touch him! Get away from him! You fucking coward, I’ll fucking kill you!”

The call shuts off.

“No!"

He calls back. It rings and rings, unanswered, and Taako feels his panic mounting with every second.

“No, no, no! Fuck!” He calls again. And again. His hands are shaking.

Kravitz is on his feet, a furious storm of black robes and red eyes. “Someone was there, someone was _there_!” He turns. “Someone has him, Taako! Someone _took_ him!”

“I know!” Taako snaps, hurling the Stone across the room and dragging his nails through his hair.

“We need to do something!”

“Like _what?_ ” Taako screams. “What are we supposed to do? What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Kravitz stares, eyes wide and disbelieving. Scared. “Taako…”

“What do you want me to do?” Taako snaps. “Tell me what you want me to do. Because – B-Because I…” He drops his gaze, knuckles pressing into his eyes. _Fuck._

“I don’t know what to do.”

And there it is, finally, spoken out loud. His greatest fear, admitted.

What are they supposed to do? What _can_ they do?

They’re useless. Angus is gone, and they’re _useless._

Thunder rumbles. Outside, the storm rages on.


	14. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unrelated but today a bunch of pages containing Important Plot Details(TM) for an upcoming fic blew off my balcony and i had to sprint down 4 flights of stairs to retrieve them #justwriterthings
> 
> Please enjoy this super short spooky interlude

They wake early.

Beside them, the fragment stirs as well, roused by the consciousness flooding his mind from theirs.

They make quick work of preparing for the day. They dress themselves, then the fragment, in their ceremonial robes. They’re a pleasing sight—a matching set, in pure white.

The fragment’s body hungers—they feel it as their own—but quietly project that there will be no food today.

It is best not to eat the day of the ceremony. It keeps things from getting too messy _._ Besides, why feed a body that will only be dead by nightfall?

They unlock the door to the basement with a flick of their wand. It is cold and damp inside, where no one has stepped foot since their last ritual, nearly twenty years ago. They light candles to illuminate the room. The fragment trails slowly behind him, quiet as a shadow. He shivers where he stands barefoot on stone, but never leaves their side.

They cannot help a flutter of amusement, almost smug. It’s always rather endearing, this part of the connection, but especially in one so young. The fragment seeks their presence, follows them now wherever they go. His mind, once sharp and loud, is now clouded by the connection. Only the rare spark of anger or confusion flickers through him, and they are always quick to tamp it down. In a way, it’s impressive. That he can still manage even that much is a testament to his intelligence, to his passion, to the energy that still burns in him, even now.

Energy they shall soon consume for themselves.

They lift the tarp from the floor in the center of the room, revealing the intricate ritual circle beneath. They check it over for imperfections, sharpening the lines and retracing the runes that have worn away in the decades since their last use. All else prepared, they carefully clean the black opal cauldron for the ritual elixir. The final step, the brew, will have to be prepared fresh.

The fragment follows close as they prepare to leave for the market, his thoughts muddled and dismayed, nervous to be left alone. It’s so… _childlike._

They smile. It really is _quite_ endearing.

“You’ve caused us quite a lot of trouble,” they admonish, tapping their chin. “Can you be trusted not to do it again?”

In response, the fragment curls a hand into their robes.

They stroke his cheek, and smile, ravenous and utterly victorious, as he leans into their touch.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. The comments on the last chapter??? Despite literally being a chapter of only like 400 words???? I am shaken. I am shook. I laughed, I cried. Honest to god. You guys are so good to me, you're so kind. It's stupid, but I really am humbled. I realized the other day that writing is honestly THE MOST creatively gratifying thing in my life. I complain about how hard it is, sure, but at the end of the day, I am so happy when I write. I have *so much fun* creating stories, and I LOVE hearing your feedback on them. When I see a comment get posted, I'm smiling before I've even read it, and I'm smiling even more after the fact. So just. Wow. Thank you guys so much, from the bottom of my withered little heart.
> 
> I was going to wait longer to post this chapter, but fuck it. Enjoy this suffering. Y'all have earned it.

It was just past 2AM when the front door bursts open.

She’s alone—Barry away for the night on a mission—and deep in trance. But that doesn’t stop her from erupting to her feet, wand in hand, lich-form alight and ready for the attack.

But there’s no danger – not the kind Lup can kill anyway. Not the kind the she can _fix._ No, this is much worse.

Taako, hollow-eyed and wane, standing in her parlour, and drenched from the storm. Kravitz behind him, shadowed in full reaper regalia, furious and desperate.

There’s yelling, and crying, and a few rather poor attempts at placating. Finally, she manages to calm them enough to get the full story – the call, Angus, the other person’s voice.

It’s horrible, infuriating, _terrifying._ Lup wants to scream, to break something, to find the bastard who has her nephew and _fucking kill him_ –

But she only needs to take one look at her brother to know she’s needed here more.

“Okay, okay,” she says, trying to be the voice of reason. _Fuck,_ if only Barry were here, he’s so much better at this whole thing. “We need to go the militia. The detectives working Angus’s case, maybe they can help. Maybe they’ll, I don’t know, piece something together that we’ve missed.”

 _How_ exactly she’s not sure, and she knows Taako doesn’t exactly hold them in the highest regard—like with most things, he seems to think it’s all up to him to solve this alone—but it’s the right move. Responsible. Barry would probably be proud.

The militia interrogates them all separately. Even her, despite the fact she knows nothing – which she tells them, repeatedly. The whole thing takes _hours._ Lup paces incessantly while she waits for the others to finish. When they finally release Taako, he looks dead on his feet, eyes glassy, almost _haunted._  

They confiscate his Stone, claiming they need it for evidence. The head detective explains that they’re calling in a professional artificer from Goldcliff to magically trace the link from the call. That is might help them find the location it was made from. It’s a good idea. Smart. Professional.

She _hates_ it.

And she knows Taako hates it more. Because it means waiting. It means sitting around, doing nothing, feeling _useless,_ and waiting for someone else to tell him whether or not he can dare to hope. It means admitting what he fears most – that he’s absolutely powerless.

Lup loves her brother with every ounce of her being, but she would be the first to admit, he was hardly the most emotionally healthy person in a room. None of them were, really. But Taako had always been damn good at hiding it. He did it by putting up walls – acting cold, aloof, sometimes downright cruel, always staying a foot ahead, always ready with snappy retort or a quick jibe, frugal with his time and doubly so with his affection.

Angus McDonald was on a very short list of people who had managed the amazing feat of breaking through those walls. She didn’t know how, or when, or _why,_ but somewhere along the year Angus and her brother had spent working for Lucretia, it happened. Taako _cared_ about him, no matter how much he had tried to convince Angus—and himself—otherwise. He put up a good front, but Angus had managed to see through it, to chip away at it, slowly, piece by excruciating piece.

Taako was hardly a sensitive person; he wouldn’t have made it easy. The effort, the resolve, the _patience_ it must have taken—of a _child,_ no less—was astounding. Angus saw what few people do – the _good_ in her brother.

If nothing else, Lup loves him for that.

Taako loves him too. She can tell. He loves him like he loves Kravitz, like he loves _her._ He loves him like family.

And now, for the second time in as many years, his family is missing. Gone, without a trace. Taken from him. And now, once again, Taako is hurt, and scared, and furious, and _powerless._ And he blames _himself._

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. They’ve all been through so much – but Taako _especially._ Her lost her, and now his kid too? If Lup served a deity other than Death, she’d be screaming to the sky to just _give him a fucking break already._

He’s been going downhill since they’d found out about Angus’s grandfather. She tried to convince him it wasn’t his fault – Angus is allowed privacy; if hadn’t wanted to tell Taako about his grandfather’s passing, he wouldn’t have told him, plain and simple. But Taako’s convinced otherwise. He thinks he should have known, should have spent more time with him, should have found him by now, should have done better, should have _been_ better.

She hugs Taako close as they prepare to leave. Back to her house, she guesses. She doesn’t know where else to go, but she sure as hell isn’t about to leave him alone.

“I’m staying,” Kravitz says flatly.

“What?” Lup asks. She’s just finished dialing a taxi wagon.

“I’m staying,” Kravitz repeats, jaw clenched. “I’ll be the first to know if anything turns up.”

“Krav, come on, you’re exhausted –”

“Lup,” he snaps, but there’s no heat behind the words. “I can’t just leave. I can’t – I can’t sit around and do _nothing._ If there’s _anything_ I can do, I – I _have_ to.”

She wavers another second. Kravitz’s won’t meet her eye. There’s a fine tremor in his hands. But there’s a set to his shoulders that tells her there’s no changing his mind. Finally, she nods.

Taako doesn’t say a word.

They climb into the wagon when it arrives. Lup gives her address, watching Kravitz talk to a detective through the windows. They last thing she sees before they drive off is him collapse into a chair, his face in his hands.

Taako is silent through the whole drive.

He faces out the window but his eyes don’t track. The early dawn light glints off the glass, tracing patterns on his face. On another day, it might be beautiful. Today, it only seems to highlight the shadows.

She asked Barry, once, what it was like when she went missing.

She doesn’t really know why she did – it almost would have been better not to know about all the hurt she caused. All the fear. The way Taako and Barry had grown more and more desperate every day. How eventually, the searching became almost habit, done out of some strange sense of respect, of duty. How they hadn’t really thought it would change anything, how they hadn’t really thought they would find her, but how both had been too afraid to admit it, to say it out loud. So they kept going, kept searching. But at a certain point, they couldn’t convince themselves to keep hoping.

As she watches her brother stare listlessly out the window, she’s reminded of that.

And she’s reminded of another moment. Of hundreds of other moments, each a year apart.

It feels like a lifetime ago – her brother on the deck of the Starblaster, staring down at the worlds below as the Hunger consumed them.

The worlds they’d abandoned, the worlds they’d damned.  Watching them be destroyed, and pretending it didn’t hurt. Pretending it didn’t matter, pretending he didn’t blame himself, like he’d hadn’t grown attached, like they were interchangeable, like they were _all just talking dust._

Lup never _ever_ wanted him to feel like that again.

They pull up to her house. Lup thanks the driver and pays.

Taako almost leaves his wand on the seat behind him as he climbs out.

She picks it up, and the sight lodges something heavy and bitter in her throat.

Outside, Taako is already standing by the front door, waiting for her to unlock it. Waiting for her to let him in and leave all of this on the outside, waiting for her to give him permission to curl himself up and wallow in his misery, to feel like he did all those years.

She doesn’t.

She stands on the curb, doesn’t move. Waits and waits until finally Taako looks at her. Really looks at her.

She holds out his wand.

“Take it,” she says. “We’re going out.”

Taako turns away like it offends him.

“Take it,” she says, not unkindly. 

“The militia said they’d call if –”

“We’re not going to the back to the Station. Krav has that covered,” she says. “We’re going to that old lady’s house. Mrs. Whatsherface.”

His eyes narrow, just a fraction. “Why?”

“You said you heard another voice when Angus called. A man’s voice.”

“So?”

“So we find that man.”

Taako lets out a breath, half-sigh, half-scoff. “Lup, we already tried –”

“We tried once!” she snaps. “ _Once,_ Taako. And we were wrong. Okay, fine, it wasn’t his grandpa, _so what?_ We just give up? After one wrong turn? Would Angus just _give up_? Did Angus _ever_ just give up?”

At last Taako turns to face her, ears flat, brows furrowed. Lup stands her ground, holding the stare until finally, _finally,_ she sees it – annoyance, anger. A spark. Anything but that dejected misery.

He huffs. Rolls his eyes.

And reaches for the wand.

 

* * *

 

The streets of Neverwinter are always striking, but today especially so. Today, Angus sees them not only from his own eyes, but through dozens of past eyes as well. Some things are familiar, others feel strange, the details blurred from differing memories, confused by the changes he’s witnessed over the centuries. He remembers when Neverwinter was first settled, when it was just a small trades village. He remembers booming industrialism and a thriving economy a few centuries later. He remembers the wreckage, the fighting, the way it all turned to rubble on the Day of Story and Song.

Today, it is only peaceful. Perhaps a little over-crowded. Angus feels how Asaph is glad to be keeping to the side-streets and back alleys, where the crowds are thinner, the faces more hardened, and their purchases less likely to raise questions.

They weave down a familiar route. His eyes feel heavy and unfocused, but he doesn’t need to see to know where he’s going. He follows Asaph instinctively, able to sense exactly where they’re going, able to feel the muscles in the other body’s legs strain and flex as though they were his own, able to tell exactly when and where they’re going to turn before they even do.

Asaph quietly makes their purchases, the list long since memorized, and tips each merchant generously for their discretion. Some pause and give Angus strange or cold looks, but none question his presence at their side. Asaph weighs each jar and wraps each package carefully before stashing them in their satchel. 

They’re in an apothecary, with only one more stop—the bladesmith—before they can return home. The ritual requires the sacrifice to be performed with a virgin, pure silver dagger. Where this thought might once have made him nauseous, Angus can now only feel Asaph’s excitement thrumming beneath his chest.

Angus follows while Asaph combs the aisles, his steps slow. The wooden floors creak beneath his feet, rhythmic and soothing, and the sunlight spilling into the shop is warm, carrying in rich smells and murmuring voices. Angus pauses by the window, smiling. It’s a beautiful day. On days like these, he’s usually out working cases –

Sharp, almost blinding panic.

He quashes it down before Asaph can feel it too, willing his pounding heart still. His fists clench, eyes wide. But everything is fine. Everything is fine because Asaph has just found the last jar, and soon they can return home and –

No. Stop it. This isn’t –

There’s a cloying fog in his brain, a loud buzz in his ears, blocking out the thoughts.

So don’t think. Move.

He walks, unsteady as he pushes his way outside. He doesn’t let himself think about why, or where he’s going. He doesn’t let himself think about anything at all.

The air is heavy and humid from the recent storm, the sky spotless and bright. The sunlight hits his face, nearly blinding. He squints. He can’t even see where he’s going.

Good. Asaph won’t be able to either.

He can only stumble along, legs weak. He wants to run, but there’s a weight to his movement, a weight to his _thoughts,_ holding him back. He can’t stop, he can’t let himself stop –

A hand lands on his shoulder.

He twists away, a scream caught in his throat. _No please no, not again –_

“Well well, if it isn’t young mister Angus McDonald.” The hand claps him on the back. Hard.

Breath knocked from his lungs, he blinks, and looks up into a familiar face.

  _Oh god, oh god, maybe she can –_

“Long time no see, little man,” says Jess the Beheader, hefting her enormous battle axe on one shoulder. The sunlight glints off the metal, but he feels a sharp stab of pain in his head– _Where did the fragment go?—_ and fog begins to settle around him, dulling the glare.

“You keeping out of trouble these days? Nah, who am I kidding? Of course not. Not with that big head of yours.” She laughs, rapping her knuckles against the side of his head.

He flinches. He doesn’t know who this is.

“Don’t touch me.”

He doesn’t know where he is.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, kid?”

He was going somewhere. Where was he going?

“Get out of my way.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“I – I need to go.” What’s going on? Where’s – _no, no, no. Where’s the fragment?_

She huffs. “Well shit, kid. Didn’t realize I was inconveniencing you by saying hello.”

Asaph is coming. Asaph is coming for him. Asaph is going to take him back.

“I need –” _help_. Something forces the word back, like a hand around his throat. Come back. Come back to me, Angus.

“Get out of my head!” he hisses.

She turns away, muttering, “Never mind then. Jeez, kids these days.”

Asaph is coming, Angus can see them, can _feel_ them, rounding the street, eyes wide and _furious_ , and –

Angus smiles.

Asaph is here. Everything is fine. Everything is okay now.

“Angus!” Asaph’s hand curls around his neck, settling over the spine, and pulls him close. “You –”

“The bladesmith’s is right over there,” Angus says, eyes glazed, smile placid. He points down the street. “Are we ready?”

Asaph doesn’t look. They stare at him, gaze narrow and calculating. Slowly, their nerves settle.

“We were worried about you,” they murmur.

Angus nods. “We know.”

Asaph blinks. Their grip around Angus’s neck tightens, just a fraction. Possessive. “No more wasting time. We have a ritual to perform.”

They begin to steer him towards the shop.

Angus keeps smiling.

The hand doesn’t move.


	16. Chapter 16

The Neverwinter Market is busy, even for a Saturday afternoon. Friday’s storm seems to have drained the streets of their usual grime, and the sky is bright and clear overhead. Ripe, exotic smells drift from traveling caravans while multicolored textiles billow in the lazy summer breeze. The soft strumming of a guitar floats over the crowds from a tavern patio, punctuated by the shouts of the enthusiastic hagglers and merchants lining the streets.

Taako keeps his head down and his steps quick while the firm hand on his arm lets him know Lup is right behind him. He moves with single-minded determination, a cold glare ready for anyone who dares to step in their way or try to lure them to an overpriced stall.

He's brisk, sure-footed, his grip white-knuckled around the Krebstar. But he knows his face is a different story – stony-eyed and drawn. He’s exhausted, hair knotted and coming lose from its braid, still wearing the same disheveled clothes from last night, but he’s so beyond caring at this point it’s almost laughable.

The further they make it from the market, the quieter the streets become, and Taako finally allows himself a small breath, easing his shoulder from their defensive hunch. The idle chatter and lazy music and sweaty crowds had nearly been enough to make him want to strangle himself. He’s got exactly zero sympathy for complaints about hot weather and overpriced zucchinis. Tough fucking luck. Some of us have actual problems.

He slows his pace and takes another long breath, at last alone. Well, not _alone_ alone. He’s still got Lup, brisk on his heels. But she doesn’t count. She’s _quiet_ for one – she’s barely said a word since they left the house.

Which is why he’s nearly startled out of his skin when a loud voice suddenly proclaims, “Well if it isn’t my number one fan.”

Taako stumbles, Lup nearly tripping over him where he's abruptly rooted to the spot.

_"Jess?”_

Sure enough, Jess the Beheader stands before him. She steadies her axe against her thigh, hands on her hips and a friendly grin on her face. She looks exactly like he remembers.

“Fancy seeing you here!” she says. “Couldn’t get enough of my shows, huh? Had to come see me in person too?”

Any other day, Taako would joke back, maybe introduce her to Lup, maybe ask what she’s been up to. But today, he can barely force a smile.

“No. I, uh, live here. In Neverwinter.”

Jess whistles. “I thought you were back to touring these days. Didn’t you have a show too?”

Taako looks away. He can feel Lup’s nervous energy beside him. She probably thinks he’s about to snap. But Jess is… well, not really a friend. But she never actively tried to kill him, at least.

“Sorta,” he says at length. “Not quite. Not right now, anyway.”

“You still adventuring?”

This earns a huff, almost a laugh. “Ha. No. No thanks. Plenty enough of that to last a lifetime. Or several.”

“No kidding.” Jess smiles, all kinds of knowing and sympathetic. It takes Taako a moment to remember, she knows. Of course she knows. Duh. _Everyone_ knows. About the Starblaster, about the hundred years he spent running from the Hunger, about the Relics. Despite his eccentric persona, he’s really never quite gotten used to the idea of everyone literally ever in the entire universe knowing his business.

He wavers, unsure how to respond, but Jess saves him from having to.

“Hey, speaking of the good ol’ days, you’ll _never_ guess who I just saw.”

“Who?”

“The little guy from the Rockport Limited. The kid detective. Remember him?”

It's as though the whole world turns mute. His gaze narrows, ears ringing in the sudden silence. His heartbeat sounds like thunder.

_Wherewherewhereishewhere'sAngus—_

_"Where?"_

He's got his hands on Jess's shoulders, nails like claws digging in to the skin. His face is only inches from hers, and he must look absolutely crazed. She steps back, startled, her axe up between them. “Taako, what –”

He shakes her. “Where? Where did you see him? Where is he?”

She stumbles back, straightens, and says—

“Corner of Riverside and Welks.”

Taako goes weightless with a single-minded focus. He hears dual shouts of surprise from Jess and Lup as he erupts into a sprint, but he doesn’t stop. There isn’t a single thing on this earth that could make him stop.

Riverside and Welks,  _Riverside and Welks,_ just a few streets over, he’s so close, he’s _so fucking close._

He’s back in the heart of the market in seconds, viciously shoving through the crowd. His feet hit the road, startled horses and angry drivers in his wake as he weaves between wagons. Almost there, almost there—

He stumbles onto Riverside, wand already up, and stands heaving for breath in the middle of the street. Wagons rumble past—people staring, cursing, shouting. Taako turns in circles, scanning the crowd.

He was here. _He was here._

Where the  _hell_ is he?

What’s out of place? Like a detective, think like a detective, _look around—_

A flash of white.

Taako turns. His pulse roars.

 _There_.

Angus.

Something’s wrong. Taako knows instantly. Angus stands not thirty feet away, pale and wane in a shop doorway, and nearly smothered in a long white robe. He stares at the ground, eyes sunken and dull. He looks  _sick._

Someone steps out behind him and—

Human, male, old.

Angus sways. The man curls a hand around the base of his neck to steady him, then leans down to whisper in his ear.

Taako doesn’t give him the chance.

The spell is immediate and precise – all his rage and worry and fear concentrated into three bolts of pure arcane energy. They sink into the old man’s chest like daggers, knocking him backwards into the door. It’s enough to hurt, not enough to kill. Not yet.

But Angus stumbles, shoulder curling. His hands clutch at his chest.

He’s hurt.

What did that _sick son of a bitch_ do to him?

The man rises, but before he can so much as reach for a wand, Taako fires again. Nothing fancy. No flare here. He’s _far_ too furious.

The first missile lands, but the man manages to roll out of the way of the other two. Pretty nimble for a wrinkly old bastard. Fine, whatever. Taako’s got spell slots to burn.

He readies a Scorching Ray, but the man's on his feet now, and he lets out an Ice Storm first.

Taako can’t dodge. He covers his face as the spell hits and shards of ice shred the air around him. The second the flurry dies down enough to see, he releases the Scorching Ray, but again, the man is too quick. He seems sure-footed, now that the element of surprise is gone. This definitely isn’t his first duel.

Two powerful attacks in quick succession push Taako to the defensive, and he doesn’t have to look around to know there’s collateral damage. All around them, people are screaming and fleeing, abandoning their wagons and stalls, stumbling away from the vicious duel.

Except Angus.

He doesn’t move except to sink to his knees. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face, and he’s breathing hard, fists clenched around his cloak. He’s looking back and forth between Taako and the man, like he’s not sure what he’s seeing is real.

But he doesn’t run.

 _Why_ doesn’t he _fucking_ run?

The man takes advantage of his distraction – Taako feels the piercing sting of Blight tear across his skin. He screams, legs buckling, vision searing white. When it fades, it’s just in time to see a spectral fist.

And the air that tears in half between them.

Lup bursts from her portal wreathed in flame, easily knocking the Mage Hand aside.

Taako scrambles to his feet. “He’s got Angus!”

Lup doesn't need to be told twice. She growls,eyes livid and narrowed on their attacker. Wall of Fire erupts from her wand, but it’s smaller than she usually makes. It’s not an attack – she’s attempting to block him in, to get him away from Angus.

It works, but only for a second. The man disperses it with a wave of his own wand and sends a bolt of lightning back. Taako readies to dodge, but it fizzles out before it reaches them.

He’s off. Panicked, now that he’s outnumbered. Still, Taako’s not underestimating him again. That’s two Sixth Level spells now. He’s _strong._

Lup tries another Wall of Fire. Through the flames, Taako sees the man pull Angus close. A shimmering field of light begins to materialize around them. Teleportation.

Not _fucking_ likely.

“Lup!” he warns. “Watch out!”

He pulls out the Wand of Switcheroo.

The switch is as nauseating as he remembers, folding and unfurling him across space in an instant. He stumbles where he lands, and from behind, hears a shout of rage and the telltale blast of heat from a discharged Fireball.

Taako turns, shielding Angus and trusting Lup to watch his back. But Angus—

Flinches.

He nearly falls, scrambling backwards, eyes wide and—

Scared.

Angus is scared. Of _him._

“A-Ango?” Taako steps back. “It’s me.”

A Ray of Frost hits the wall.

He spins around. There's _no_ _time_ , he needs to—

Lup is on the ground, blood smeared across her chin and withering in the throes of Confusion, and Taako sees red, rage and fear twisting viciously through him. That's impossible - that’s _five_ Fourth Level spells now.

No more _fucking around._ Taako fires Finger of Death. The man fails to evade, necrotic damage coursing like lightning across his skin. He collapses, a scream of pain—

From _Angus._

The sound drives terror like a knife through his chest.

“Stop!” Angus sobs. On the ground, clawing at his own skin. “Stop it!”

“A-Angus?” Taako takes a wavering step.

“You’re _hurting_ me!”

His breath stutters. No no no, this isn’t right. Not again not again, no- He didn't- He didn't _mean_  to.

Oh god, _oh god,_ he’s _crying,_ Angus is crying _because of him._

_Again._

A Wall of Force erupts between them.

It’s too fast to counter, to dodge, to do anything but sprawl mercilessly across the cobblestone. Something cracks in his shoulder and the pain stabs through his breath, robbing him of coherent thought. He rolls onto his side, vision spinning, and looks up to see the man grab Angus.

Angus clutches him back. Unafraid, _trusting_.

The man casts another Teleportation Circle.

“No,” Taako croaks, tasting blood. “No, no–” He forces himself to his feet. Not again. _“No!”_

He stumbles forward but the Wall of Force holds strong. The circle begins to glow.

“No!” His fists pound the wall, useless. “Angus!” Not again, he can’t lose him again, _fucking—_

 _Fuck!_ What the fuck is he _doing?_ He’s a _wizard!_

He casts Disintegrate.

The wall shatters, the circle flares, it’s too late, the light envelops the figures within, it’s too late, it’s too late—

Not again, _not_ _again—_

He throws himself into the circle as the magic cloaks them entirely. He hears himself scream, vision razed by a blinding light. Angus’s sleeve slips through his fingers and—

He feels nothing at all.

When the light dies, the circle is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know how to write fight scenes? No. Did I re-write this particular fight scene six entire times? You goddamn bet.
> 
> Bleekhflennngladnngh


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who thought that Taako didn't get sucked up by Asaph's teleportation at the end of the last chapter, my bad y'all. I guess I wrote that a little too vaguely.

The spell rives like a living thing; tendrils of power sink into his skin like hooks and carve out a space in the hollow of his chest, tearing him into motion. But the man is smart, he’s fast, and he must notice the third occupant in his casting, because just as suddenly the claws around him release and turn to hands pushing away.

Taako seizes hold of the spell like scraping his fingers nails against the edge of a cliff, furious and desperate, even as the spell grows _painful_ against him. The magic twists and compresses, meaningless with direction, and he’s falling and spinning and grasping for the cloth of Angus’s sleeve –

But his fingers pass through empty air.

 

* * *

 

The magic dissipates. They fall in a graceless tangle of limbs where they are released, panting, but scramble to their feet, a spell already on their tongue.

They’re alone. The elf is gone. _Finally._

The conjuration thankfully hadn’t been interrupted when the elf had broken the circle, but the spell was rushed, and they’d had to fight to shake the elf before they landed with him in tow. As it is, they’re only a few hundred yards off target. The elf, with any luck, if further – some miles away, in the middle of the forest.

Still, they aren’t taking any more chances. They’re _so close_. They need to hurry. They need to get this done _now._

The pull the fragment to his feet from where he landed beside them, but he’s as useless as a dead weight. His legs collapse and he falls, gasping, hands scraping the dirt.

They can feel it – his own shock and confusion overrun with their anger and frustration, no longer able to distinguish between his emotions theirs. Likewise, he’s feeling double the physical sensation he’s used to – with stimuli from both bodies for his brain to decode. This is usually a good thing—usually exactly what they want from a fragment before being Amalgamated into the whole—but they’re also usually able to keep themselves calm enough that their emotions don’t overpower their fragments.

Today is not the case. The elves in the market had nearly managed to best them, had nearly destroyed _everything_ they have worked so hard for. They are furious, injured, and overflowing with adrenaline from the fight. The fragment’s young body is reeling with it.

“Get up,” they command. They drag the fragment to his feet and push, watch him stumble a few steps before falling again.

“W-Wait,” he cries. “Wait, I–”

They push him again. “There’s no time.”

He scrambles back. “But–”

They still him with a hand on his shoulder. “Angus!”

The fragment looks up. There are tears streaming down his face.

They sigh.

“Angus,” they say again, softer now, as his fear grips their heart. “This will all be over soon, but you must come with us.”

He shakes his head. “That– That was Taako! That was _Taako_. He was… looking for me.”

“No,” they say. “He hurt you, Angus. He _hurt_ you. Remember?” They press a finger to his chest, hard, where the elf’s spells hit.

The fragment looks down, but not as his chest. He’s looking at his hands. At the long, pale scar across his palm.

“It was an accident,” he says, voice small.

Their hand fists into his robe and drags him closer, until their foreheads touch.

“You’re wrong, Angus. You remember how it really went, don’t you?”

They close their eyes, sift through the memories until they find the right one – the one they changed. They project it into the fragment’s mind – sharp and clear of static. The burn, the water, the numbness spreading. And Taako watching, smiling, _meaning_ it.

The open their eyes in time to see the fragment crumple, clutching his head – a broken thing.

They kneel at his side. “Don’t you remember? Don’t you see?”

The fragment looks up, trembling. Slowly, he nods.

“I remember,” he whispers.

Asaph smiles, and this time, when they offer their hand, the fragment takes it.

 

* * *

 

Taako slams into hard earth, the taste of blood in sharp his mouth and hand is still outstretched before him, reaching. He scrambles to his knees, ears still ringing from the interrupted spell and struggles for his bearings.

He’s in a forest, dark and quiet, the trees almost dense enough to block out the sun. Most importantly, he’s alone.

Shit. He pushes himself to his feet, grip tight on his wand. He spins in a circle. Shit shit shit –

He casts Locate Creature.

Nothing.

“Fuck!”

His breath quickens. This can’t be happening. He was so close, Angus was _so close!_ But he fucked up _again_ and now he’s _gone,_ and Taako is in the middle of the fucking nowhere and he’s _alone_ –

The ring on his finger begins to glow.

Taako startles. He stares at the ring, and his eyes grow wide when realization hits.

He’s _not_ alone.

The tear splits through air. Taako doesn’t think he’s ever seen as more glorious sight than that which emerges – two skeletal figures, one cloaked in red and the other in black.

“Taako!” Lup shouts, bony arms embracing him tight. “You just disappeared! I got Kravitz – I didn’t know what else to do!”

Taako squeezes back, relief like a flood over him. “Teleportation Circle,” he explains weakly.

“You fucking idiot, you could have been cut in half.” She steps back, his cheek cradled in her hands before she pulls away. Taako instantly misses the touch.

He hasn’t seen Kravitz since they’d split ways at the station last night, and his breath catches when he sees him now, cold and furious, his eyes a fiery red.

“Krav –”

Kravitz pulls him in to a crushing hug.

Taako blinks and tears slip from his lashes. He feels something righted from where it was shaken loose within him. Kravitz is solid and familiar around him, his weight grounding.

“Where is he?” he asks, deceptively calm.

“I don’t know,” Taako admits. “I– I got pushed out before the spell ended. I don’t know how far.”

“Let’s sweep the area. He could still be close; we might see something.” Kravitz pulls away and offers a hand, as reasonable as if this were any other job, and Taako feels a fierce surge of gratefulness. He takes the hand and squeezes tight, and when Kravitz pulls him back into his arms and they soar upwards, Taako has the distinct impression he’s being held as though to keep him from unraveling entirely.

Above the canopy of trees, the air is cold and dry, the sun blinding. The forest below them seem to stretch out for miles in every direction, the earth below sheltered beneath its ancient trees. The wind tears at his clothes and hair, and Taako’s eyes start to sting.

Taako casts True Sight.

Ahead, a small section of greenery ripples and bleeds away, a shimmering barrier of magic.

Beneath it, stands a house.

 

* * *

 

Asaph empties their satchel across the stone floor in a clatter of glass jars and tightly-wrapped parcels. The ingredients tumble out, and they fumble to straighten them, mind alight with the portions and calculations needed for the elixir. The fragment is silent beside them.

In the center of the room, five candles burn on the points of a star, tracing a circle around them on the floor. Each flame is dazzling, incandescent and multicoloured. Asaph summons the bowl, a conjured flame heating it from beneath as they begin to measure out the ingredients. They swirl together, kaleidoscopic against polished black opal, and slowly, begin to lose themselves within each other.

 

* * *

 

“There’s something there!”

They take off fast enough that he feels his stomach drop. He ducks his head against the sting of the wind, eyes screwed shut. Even then, he can tell the moment they’ve passed through the barrier. The air turns dry, heavy and still with the weight of a powerful magic.

They swoop down behind a tall gate and land in some sort of garden. In front of them is a towering manor, overgrown with vines and cracked stone.

Kravitz drops them in front of the entrance, Lup behind them seconds later.

“Ready?” she asks. She steadies her wand at the door.

“Wait,” Taako says. He’s thrumming with energy, but he knows they need to be sure first. He takes a deep breath, scarcely daring to hope, and casts another Locate Creature.

In his hand, the Krebstar begins to glow.

 

* * *

 

Something tugs on his thoughts like a physical weight, piercing the static and the raging thrum of _panicfearconfusion_. Angus blinks to find himself standing in front of Asaph, feet numb on the cold stone.

Asaph beckons him closer. He holds a silver dagger, the blade glinting with the glow of the flames.

Angus remembers this part. He holds out his hand.

Asaph drags the knife across the palm of his hand, quick and sure, slicing through the scar that’s already there, then does the same to his own hand.

Wordlessly, they stand over the elixir. Dual spikes of pain shoot through him from the wounds, but Asaph only grins— _excitementlusthunger_ —as their blood spills into the bowl, indistinguishable.

 

* * *

 

The Krebstar leads them deep into the house and down a series of twisting halls, casting long shadows against the walls. Taako sprints with the others hot on his trail, the glow of his wand brightening with every step.

The last turn leads them down a long staircase. At the bottom, there’s a heavy cellar door, the air behind it dark and rotten with the stench of necromantic magic.

Lup steps forward and raises her wand.

 

* * *

 

The runic script within the circle begins to glow all around them, the magic electric, humming beneath their skin. The air crackles as the flames of the candles shudder and leap.

Suddenly – a crash. The cellar door flies from its hinges as three figures sweep into the room behind it, weapons drawn.

Asaph snarls and drops the knife, magic sparking in his palms. It’s too late – the fragment is _theirs._

All they have to do is hold them off long enough to complete the ritual. Impossible, perhaps, for one man alone.

But Asaph is never alone.

They sweep to the edge of the circle to face their opponents, leaving the fragment behind them. They stretch their consciousness to the reigns of his mind and feel him go slack as they over take, the ritual chant spilling from his lips.

Mind split, they begin to duel.

 

* * *

 

The duel is vicious.

Lup is alight in white-hot flames; Kravitz a dark blur, his scythe glinting with every deadly swipe. But the old man is practically dancing around them. Taako had the advantage of surprise before, but the man was ready for them this time. They’re in his territory now, and it shows. He moves with the speed of someone much younger, fights with the skill of someone much older.

“Careful!” Taako yells over the crackling magic. “I don’t think he has limits on his spell slots!” How, he doesn’t know, but the man’s clearly incredibly powerful.

Taako trades off a few more attacks of his own, keeping it light – he hasn’t got much left in him. The second he’s sure the man’s distracted with Kravitz’s speed and Lup’s heavier firepower, he backs off.

His eyes lock onto Angus.

He’s in the middle of a thirty-foot circle, layered with swirling runes that Taako can’t make heads or tails of, the perimeter of which the man is fiercely defending. He’s kneeling in the center over what looks like a bowl of swirling liquid while a brilliant flame floats above its surface. He cups it, mouth forming foreign words in a language Taako can’t parse. Around him, the runes begin to glow in the same multicoloured hues as the fire. The glow grows until he seems lit from within, eyes swirling with an iridescent light.

Taako races to the edge of the circle, but something holds him back from crossing over it. It’s like a physical force, wavering in and out of focus when he leans into it. It burns to the touch.

“Angus!”

There’s no reaction. He doesn’t even know if Angus can hear him.

He presses against the barrier, feeling for cracks. He casts Dispel Magic, Disintegrate, Counterspell, increasingly desperate each time. There’s no change. If anything, it seems to grow brighter.

There’s a shout from behind. Taako turns in time to see the man stumble, Kravitz looming over him, his scythe dark with blood.

Angus chokes, losing the words, and the fire flickers. For a moment, the glow of the runes sputters.

Taako doesn’t think.

He jumps, clearing the first layer.

The man recovers—and so does Angus—the circle sparking back to life before Taako can move again. He’s now trapped between two sets of runes. He can feel the force of the magic pressing in from both sides, suffocating and _hot –_ nearly sweltering. But he holds himself still.

“Angus!” he tries again. “Can you hear me?”

Whatever trance he’s in holds strong now; his luminous eyes are focused only on the fire, the incantation pouring him his mouth.

Closer. He needs to get closer.

Taako holds his breath. There’s no room to turn, but the sparks from Lup’s spells and the swipe of Kravitz’s scythe are still audible as they fight. _Come on,_ he wills. Another hit, just get another hit.

Something knocks the man across the room. He tumbles, landing on the other side of the circle. Taako seizes the moment of distraction, leaping over another layer as soon as the light stutters. When he straightens, the man’s gazes flickers over.

 _“You!”_ he roars.

All around, the light pulses, the heat of the runes scalding and the fire blazing tall. Taako can’t move, helpless to watch as the man straightens and raises his hands. But before he can discharge a spell, he’s blasted back by a Scorching Ray.

Angus gasps in pain, and Taako clears another two lines. He’s so close now – so fucking close. He just needs to reach him – if he could _just_ reach him, hold him, tell him it’s going to be _okay –_

“Angus!” he pleads. “It’s me! It’s Taako!”

The man is still on his feet, discharging spells lightning-quick. But light stutters anyway.

Taako jumps. He can almost touch him now.

“Angus, _please!_ Come on, kid!” He pounds the wall, heedless of the way it burns his skin. “We’re here!”

Angus blinks, brow furrowed. He shakes his head.

“We’re here to get you!” Taako tells him. He feels himself sink to his knees. “I’m right here!”

Angus’s hands are shaking. He blinks again, the light of his eyes flickering, but the fire seems to have taken on a life of its own. The flames leaps, spilling out over the edge of the bowl and across the floor. But Angus isn’t moving.

He’s looking at him. For the first time. _Really_ looking at him.

“I’m right here,” Taako says. “Angus, I’m _right here._ ”

“Taako?”

“I’m here, pumpkin.”

“Taako,” he whispers. “I– I’m _sorry–_ ”

Several things happen at once.

 

 

 

Across the room, Lup hits the man with a fierce Sunburst. It envelopes him in searing light, tearing a bloodcurdling scream from his throat. He collapses, his robes blackened and smoking, and Lup grins, triumphant. They got him. _They got him!_

 

 

Asaph’s legs buckle. As they fall, they see the fragment, in the center of the circle where they left him. The spell is complete, but the light from the runes is dim.

Beside him, separated only by the glow of the innermost layer, is the elf. The fire has flooded over the sides of the elixir, spreading out across the stone, but he doesn’t so much as flinch, even as the flames surround him. He reaches out a hand and–

And–

And the fragment _reaches back._

“ _No!_ ”  they scream. That soul is _theirs._

_That soul is theirs!_

They hit the floor, body already limp, eyes fading from bright to dull. Lifeless.

But their soul—their _souls—_ are still very much alive.

And hungry for their new form.

 

 

 

Kravitz is the first to realize what’s about to happen.

He feels it keenly, vividly, with all the experience of his eons as a reaper. He feels the old man’s soul, withering and twisting beneath his burnt flesh, beginning to move, beginning to _loosen._

He feels it rise up, and up, out of the body now empty beneath it. And it’s wrong. It’s _sick._ A mangled, perverse, almost _rotted_ thing. But it crackles with energy as it soars, too fast for the human eye, streaking through the air, across the room, over the glow of the circle, and–

And directly into Angus’s chest.

 

 

 

Angus’s hand has just barely grazed his own when he hears it.

“ _No!_ ”

In an instant, a white light streaks past his eyes. Taako can’t even begin to formulate a reaction – the light stabs into Angus like a physical force, knocking him backwards into the eager arms of the fire.

Taako screams—no no _no please no—_ but the barrier is back, holding strong against his desperate fists. He can do nothing but watch as Angus seizes, the fire flaring up around him until he disappears from sight.

Like an explosion, a wave of energy bursts out from the flames. Taako flies backwards, feels himself skid across the hard stone, vision spinning even when he finally lands in a breathless heap.

Lup rushes to his side, Kravitz shielding them as she pulls Taako to his feet. He clutches her, still dizzy, and they watch together in horror as the fire roars and blazes until it licks at the ceiling.

And then, from the flames, a small figure emerges.

His face is shadowed, hallowed by the brilliant light behind him, but his eyes glow. He stands, wreathed in flames and lethal energy, and _smiles._ A sick, cruel, crazed smile.

“Well,” Angus laughs, voice warped, layered as though in chorus. “We suppose it _was_ time for a change after all.”

He cracks his neck, flexes his fingers, and before Taako can even process the sight, casts Thunderwave.

The force of the spell is unlike anything Taako has ever seen, impossible for a wizard of Angus’s level. It knocks all three of them back until they hit the wall.

Angus laughs again and shakes out his hands. “My, this one really was an _excellent_ choice. So much untapped potential, and still so _young._ The body may take some getting used to, but we’ll have plenty of time for that just as soon as we rid ourselves of you three.”

Lup rises and takes a hesitant step forward, expression pained. She casts Gust of Wind, and Taako feels the cold claws of dread down his spine. No Fireballs this time. She’s afraid of hurting him. And she’s not the only one –  Kravitz is still frozen in place where he fell.

Taako can barely _breathe._

Angus easily dodges the spell.

“You know, we usually hate to draw distinctions between ourselves and our fragments,” Agnus says. “However, in this case, we simple _must_ make an exception.”

He raises a hand, a deadly charge building.

“The boy will be quite sad to see you three dead.   _I,_ however, will be _most_ delighted.”

Taako knows he should do something, say something, _cast_ something. But he can’t. He can’t hurt Angus. Not again. He _won’t._ Even with that _thing_ controlling him like a fucking _puppet._

And that’s where it ends.

They’ve lost. And the monster wearing his child’s face knows it. He’s found the one way to win, the one way to guarantee they won’t raise a finger against him. They’ve _lost._

His eyes burn, not from the fire, but with tears, bitter and pained.

He’s got nothing left in him. No clues to solve, no witnesses to interrogate. Here, where it counts most, he’s failed. He’s failed Angus. _Again._

After everything, this is where his luck finally runs out. After a hundred years watching his family die over and over again, only to get them back each time, this is where the pattern ends. Every time he was quick enough, smart enough, just plain _lucky_ enough to get them back. Against the Hunger, in Phandalin, on the Day of Story and Song. When Lup was missing, when Magnus’s soul was flung from his body, when—

Taako’s breath catches.

Time crawls to a stop.

Lup stands beside him, expression fierce. Kravitz on the other side, dark and inscrutable.

And Angus, facing them. The spell is charging, a blinding light in the palm of his hand. If it hits, it’ll kill him. Taako doesn’t have to be a detective to know that much.

But he’s not a detective. He’s a wizard. And a _damn_ good one.  

He casts Magic Jar.

His body crumples as his soul surges into the air. And as he flies, he sees it. The grotesque, twisted thing inside of Angus.

It’s larger, _stronger,_ wreathing around him as he enters Angus’s body, thrashing against him, violent and livid.

But this close, he sees something else there too. Something smaller. Something faint, intangible, barely distinguishable in the mass. Something familiar.

Taako rushes in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm what to say? I'm pretty proud of this chapter, y'all. I basically knew I wanted that climax scene since day one of writing this. It was kind of like the designated END GOAL that I was working towards in my plot chart. Sorry if it was kind of... messy? I know there was a lot going on, but I really wanted it to be visually interesting, if that makes sense? (Code for: lol I wanted lots of fire and pretty colours)
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for making it this far! We're in the home stretch now! See you all next time <3


	18. Chapter 18

He stands in white space. The air around him is soft and murky. It fades slowly into focus, shifting in time with his breath. It’s not hot, but not cold either. It’s… nothing. It’s nothing, and it’s nowhere.

But after a minute, it settles into somewhere. Somewhere familiar.

The passenger car of the Rockport Limited.

It looks exactly as it did three years ago, only faded. Colours muted, faint and wispy around the edges.

Taako looks down at himself, his clothes, his hands, and sees the same.

 _Jeffandrew?_ he thinks.

But there’s no mysterious voice from everywhere and nowhere, no philosophical words of wisdom and comfort. There’s just the Rockport Limited, and standing across it, a boy.

The air stills the image. His breath hitches tight in his chest. He stares, and the boy stares back, his eyes a familiar, _beautiful_ brown.

A hand flutters to his heart. Just to make sure it’s still beating.

“Hi pumpkin.”

Angus’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. His eyes are glistening wet, but when he smiles, soft, wistful, and _entirely Angus._

Taako starts forward and Angus meets him halfway. He falls to his knees and is enveloped instantly in embrace that knocks the breath from his chest. He’s so small— oh god, Taako nearly forgot how _small_ he is. He feels strange and cold, soft in a way that isn’t fully there. Taako doesn’t care. He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t _ever_ want to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Angus sobs, face buried against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry—”

Taako cups his head, fingers gentle in his hair. “It’s not your fault.” And _god,_ he needs Angus to understand, he needs Angus to believe him. “Angus, _none_ of this was your fault.”

Angus only cries harder. He’s shaking, whispering, words almost too quiet to hear.

“—forget you. He made me _forget you!”_

Taako pulls back, but only to place hands on either side of Angus’s face, holding him still and forcing their eyes to meet. “It doesn’t matter. Angus, it _doesn’t matter._ It’s not your fault. If anything, _I_ should be the one—” his voice breaks, and _fuck,_ he doesn’t get to fucking c _ry_ right now, Angus needs him to—

“ _I_ should be the one apologizing. I should. I’m—” A shuddering breath. “I am _so sorry_ I wasn’t there.”

Angus shakes his head. “I-It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ ,” he says. “I should have been there. You’re— You and Krav are.” He stops. Swallows. Forces himself to continue. “You and Krav that the _most_ important things in my life. I should have acted like it. I should have been there.”

The tears begin to slow. Angus only takes his hands and lowers them, their fingers laced. They tremble, together.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“I missed you too, pumpkin. _So much_.”

Angus smiles again, just a little. He lifts one hand to wipe at the tears, and across his palm, against the ghostly, not-quite-there skin, Taako sees a pale scar.

Taako reaches for it. His thumb traces the old burn.

“I hurt you,” he says, something ugly lacing through him. Sorrow, cold and hallow. Shame. “I’m sorry. I would never— I never meant to.”

“I know,” Angus says.

“I would never, _ever_ hurt you.”

“Taako. _I know_.”

There’s a pause, and the silence is almost peaceful. Taako wipes at his eyes, and when he opens them again, it’s to see the edges of the train car already fading away to smoke.

Angus notices too. His expression creases. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Taako says, and he’s careful not to let his own worry creep into his voice. “I won’t let him hurt you. I _promise._ ”

Angus nods, back straightening. They’re beginning to fade now too, their clasped hands fazing through each other.

Then, suddenly, Angus pulls his hand back. Palm up. He stares.

And—

“I’d know that look anywhere,” Taako says. “You got a plan in that big head of yours?”

Angus’s lips quirk. “I… I think so.”

Taako grins. “What do I need to do?”

Angus looks up, hand clenched to a fist.

“Trust me.”

 

* * *

 

The world returns around him, faded gray to a raging inferno of colour.  

Taako sits up on the stone floor, head spinning. The room roars in a holocaust of fire, a dazzling glow. It’s almost beautiful. Kravitz stands before him, still shielding him to the bitter end. Lup is beside them, face drawn, fists coated in defiant flame.

And Angus –

Angus is still smiling, eyes reflected in the surrounding chaos.

But it’s not the cruel smile of the wretched thing inside him. It’s something else. It’s the quiet, almost mournful smile of the boy detective on the Rockport Limited.

The spells in his hand flickers and dies. He drops his arm to his side. Slowly, he raises the other. 

In his fist, he holds a bloodied silver dagger.

Eyes burning, he stabs it into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all: wow I'm so glad Taako and his boy were finally reunited!!!  
> me: yeah me too!  
> me: *sweats nervously*


	19. Chapter 19

Lup can’t move.

She feels frozen in place, as if by some invisible force - something powerful and awful and absolutely horrifying. Even her thoughts seem locked down, the panic a hot, blinding presence, forcing them to replay what she’s just seen over and over and over.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to _stop_ seeing it, not for the rest of her long, undead life – realizing just a split second too late what was about to happen, helpless to stop it.

Angus, eyes aglow, plunging the knife up through base of his sternum. Directly into his heart.

He _screams._ In that haunting, dissonant voice, it is the worst thing Lup’s ever heard, and it slices like a physical thing straight through her. She watches him spasm, face contorted, an anguished mask of rage and pain. His fingers slip from the hilt, hands slick with blood, as he collapses. Around the room, the fire sputters and dies, snuffed out almost instantaneously. The room falls dark, and through the darkness, Lup hears a sob. A wordless, horrified scream. Taako.

He reaches Angus, now twitching where he lies, and falls to his knees in the pooling blood. But it's not Angus. Not really. It’s that fucking _thing_ inside of him – screaming, thrashing, bleeding, _dying_ in her brother's arms She’s _knows_ this. But _fuck,_ how can she fucking  _watch_ this? How can she stand here? Why won’t she move? Why won’t she fucking _do_ something?

It’s over in seconds – a wound like that, on a body so small. His spasms begin to settle, his mouth working silently, gasping, neck twisted. And his _eyes,_ his horrible, _hideous_ eyes, still glowing, lock on to the other body—the old man’s body—still collapsed across the room.

She feels it before she sees it. The soul beginning to rise from Angus’s chest. One last-ditch effort. It’s weaker than it was before. Slower.

Lup's faster.

She’s faster and she’s _deadly,_ moving with a cold, silent rage.

“Not _fucking_ likely.” She tears it from the air like a fly, trapping it in clawed, skeletal hand. It smells rotted, disgusting, and feels cold to the touch. It’s the soul of a _monster._

And she cradles it to her chest, impossibly delicate.

Because Angus is still in there. Angus is  _still in there._

Taako is leaning over the body—his _child’s_ body—screaming like she’s never heard before. And Lup hates it, hates _herself,_ but she swallows down the feeling of betrayal and forces herself to turn away. 

She faces Kravitz instead. He’s still standing, scythe in hand, human now, with eyes wide and empty. Stunned, frozen in fear. Like if he moves, if he reacts, that makes it real. That makes what he just saw real.

The soul is already fading, falling weaker by the second without a container to sustain it. She has to go _now._

“Kravitz.”

He doesn’t move.

“ _Kravitz."_  Louder, steal in her voice.

His eyes flicker to hers, just barely.

“Bring him to Merle," she says. "Get him healed.”

Kravitz blinks, lips moving silently. “What?” he manages, hoarse.

“Bring Angus’s _body_ to _Merle_ and _heal_ him.” Her voice shakes. “He’s gonna want it back.”

She waits just long enough for recognition – a flutter of understanding. Then she carves a tear into the Astral Plane.

“I’ll be back.  _We’ll_ be back.”

She steps through.

In the Astral Plane, it’s always dark, always quiet and still. She’s alone, but for the wounded thing she carries against her. She’s alone.

And so it’s only here, under the cover of shadows and a deep, bone-weary solitude, that Lup lets herself cry, lets her shoulders shudder and the sobs slip from her lips. She flies like an arrow, losing her tears on the wind, the soul pressed tight to her chest, and lands on feet much steadier than she feels in front of the entrance to the Eternal Stockade.

Because they saved the fucking world once. And it’s time to call in that return favour.

The Raven Queen is every bit as imposing as the day Lup first met Her. She rises from the summoning circle, a half-formed mass of living night, to sit atop her thrown. As she settles into physical space, she somehow still seems to fill the entire room, the entire _Plane._ She is Death Herself – feathered, shadowed, and glorious.

And Lup is a lich with tears still staining her face, cradling a fragile, tiny, deformed soul.

The Raven Queen doesn’t move as Lup approaches, but Her voice echoes from all around, hissing from the shadows.

_What is this repulsing creature you’ve brought before me?_

Lup bows. “My Queen, I ask your help.”

Her beak tilts, just slightly. _The dungeons are beneath us, my child._

Lup steels her breath. “He can’t go in the dungeons, My Queen. Not yet.”

The Raven Queen is silent, but the air around her shifts, displeasure palpable. 

“There is a wounded soul in here,” she explains. “Fused together with one who has sinned against Death, but innocent of its crimes.”

_Innocent. But **dead.**_

“My Queen –”

_The dead **remain** dead, my child._

Something ignites within her. She straightens, curling her hands protectively around the injured soul, and says, “I didn’t.”

In an instant, the Raven Queen is before her, Her phantom form dripping like wax from the ceiling. The shadows mould around Her like a robe, her beaked face pointed, mere inches away from Lup’s own.

_Do you seek to make me change that decision?_

For a moment—a single, impulsive second—Lup thinks about holding the stare, taking the challenge, stubborn as she’s always promised herself to be.

Instead, she breathes the impulse away like a sigh, and lowers into a bow. Because her pride could never come before another’s life. Before Angus’s life.

“Of course not, My Queen,” she says. “I’m eternally grateful to you. Truly. I seek only your empathy.”

 _I showed you empathy,_ the Raven Queen hisses, _when I gave your twisted lich form divine purpose instead of casting it where it belonged._

Lup bites her lip. She lets the Raven Queen’s anger wash over her. “Please,” he says. “I’m begging you to reconsider.”

_What’s done is done, child. The boy is already dead._

“Angus,” Lup says. Her lip quivers. “His name is Angus McDonald.”

The beak retracts a mere inch.

_I know his name._

“He’s twelve years old,” Lup tells Her.

There’s a pause.

_You think me ignorant?_

“He’s Kravitz’s son.”

Another pause. Even longer this time. The temperature dips and rises. The shadows twitch.

_Impossible._

“By _blood_ , yes. But not by _choice_.” Lup blinks to clear the tears, and forces herself to ask, “Is that bond any weaker?”

The shadows bow, stretching and twisting around Her, and from them, the Raven Queen emerges in Her human form to examine the soul. She drifts forward without movement or sound, and Lup steps to meet Her, hands unstretched. She takes a quick, terrified breath, holds it, and before she can think better, drops Angus into the Raven Queen’s frozen hands.

The Raven Queen halts, and for a moment, actually seems startled. She holds it at a distance, like She doesn’t quite know what to do with it. And then, slowly, and with surprising tenderness, She brings it close.

Lup releases the breath, tears hot and heavy in her eyes. The soul writhers and pulses.

“He loves to read,” she whispers. “He’s learning magic, and he gets a little better every day.” She laughs, a little broken, a little proud. “I’m going to help teach him, when he’s ready for the big stuff.”

 _My child,_ the Raven Queen says.

“He’s so smart,” Lup tells Her. “Too smart for his own good, I think. And _definitely_ too nice.”

_Lup._

“He’s twelve years old.” Her voice breaks. “He’s _only_ twelve years old _._ ”

She cries. Closes her eyes and just lets herself cry. The Raven Queen is absolutely silent. The soul pulses, the only source of warmth in a frozen world.

Lup sniffles and opens her eyes again. The Raven Queen hasn’t moved. She looks at Lup, then at the soul, tiny against her hands. Lup swears she can hear Her sigh.

_Let us see what we can do for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! I only kind of did it on purpose. I was out of the country, but I'm back now, and I'm ready to _finish this fucking fic!!!_ I know this chapter was pretty short so the next one will be posted soon!
> 
> We're so close, y'all. So close.
> 
>  
> 
> *EDIT*
> 
> Wow so I'm the stupidest person I know??? I've had this story tagged as having 21 chapters here on ao3 since forever but on my computer it definitely has 22???? What up I'm Cal I'm 19 and I never fuckin learned how to count :'(
> 
> Gonna update that real quick! To anyone who thought they only had to sit through another 2 chapters, my bad y'all. You now have to suffer through 1 extra :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood and graphic description of a dead body.

In a cliffside mansion in Bottlenose Cove, on a calm, seaside, Sunday afternoon, Angus McDonald’s dead body is laid across Merle’s living room floor.

His head rests in his father’s lap. Kravitz seems surprisingly calm with it all, stroking careful fingers through his hair, fruitlessly smoothing back the curls. Earlier, he took the kid’s glasses, wiped off the blood, and tucked them aside where they wouldn’t get stepped on.

Merle is murmuring soft spells, hands aglow with a faint healing light as he runs them over the kid’s chest. The little shit’s in _white_ for Pan’s sake - the blood soaked through his clothes is so dark it’s nearly black, splattered all the way from his neck to his feet. His  _bare_ feet. The toes are starting to turn a little gray, but that's no surprise.

There’s a knife on the floor next to him. It was buried up to the fucking _handle_ when he got here.

The wound is so deep—and the kid so damn _thin_ —it nearly pokes clean out the other side of him. Merle has to start at the base and work his way up, magically stitching together every vein and sinew of flesh. It's a bit of a patch job; he’s no undertaker, and healing on a dead body ain’t as easy as a living one.

And that’s what this is. A dead body.

A dead body that Taako and Kravitz are still treating like a very much alive body. A dead body they came tearing through space with and laid out on his floor in the middle of lunch.

Merle might have reacted in a less than dignified manner, and might have said a few less than dignified words, but at least he had the good sense to shoo Mavis and Mookie out of the room. He prays to Pan they listened to him and aren’t secretly watching from around a corner—they don’t need to see _this_ —but he can’t afford to check. Every time he so much as takes his eyes off the body, Taako snaps like a feral animal.

The wizard is pacing madly over Merle’s shoulder. He hasn’t so much as looked at the body since they arrived, but somehow, he seems to know the instant Merle starts slowing down.

“Taako,” Merle had tried, the first time it happened, voice gentle. “Taako, I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”

“Shut up and do your fucking job for once, Highchurch,” Taako had snarled. “He’s not gone until I fucking say he is.”

Merle doesn’t hold it against him. Losing a child must be. Well. It must be just about the worst goddamn thing in the world.

“Merle.” Kravitz’s quiet voice snaps him back to the present, and he realizes the spell has ended. The body's getting cold.

“Please continue,” Kravitz says, affectionless. He strokes the kid’s face, fingers just barely grazing the skin, like he’s afraid to break him.

He shouldn’t be, Merle thinks. Angus is already dead. It’s not a cruel thought, just logical.

They’ve never had the best relationship, he and the reaper. The bastard did cost him his arm, after all. But, well. Since he asked so nicely.

Merle clears his throat, blinks back a dampness in his eyes he doesn’t want to name, and gets back to work.

Minutes pass. Merle finishes on the chest. The weird robe thing is ruined, but he’s no tailor. At Taako’s impatient behest, he starts on the rest of the body. He heals a gash across the kid’s palm, then bruise on his elbow. He uses the edge of his shirt to start mopping up some of the blood off his neck.

He closes the poor kid’s eyes.

Eventually, Kravitz’s hands still. Taako stops pacing. The room is quiet. Almost serene. Merle thinks maybe it’s starting to sink in.

Then, about an inch away from his face, a portal shreds itself open in a burst of flame.

Merle falls back on his ass. Taako falls to his knees. Mavis and Mookie scream from where they’re definitely watching around a corner.

“I got him!” Lup shouts. “I got him, I got him!”

And before anyone can do anything else, she slams a glowing white-hot ball of light into the center of the kid’s newly-healed chest.

 

* * *

 

Taako collapses hard, and it's like the weight of the entire world itself has pushed him to his knees, there at Angus's side, and like nothing in that whole world could _ever_ make him leave it again. He watches the soul dissolves, flaring one last time before its swallowed down. Angus spasms, bloody and twitching and _fuck_ it looks so much like when he was dying _oh god there’s so much blood –_

Then his eyes fly open and his back arches, lips parted in a silent scream. But it lasts only second before he falls limp again, eyes fluttering shut.

Nobody moves.

Lup stands with her hands pressed over her mouth. Merle's are heavy on his shoulder, Kravitz’s tight around his wrist. He doesn't remember either of them reaching for him.

They stare.

Angus’s chest rises. Shallow, slow.  _Alive._

“Oh thank _god_ , oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _thank fucking god."_  Taako shudders with the words, voice hoarse. He's terrified and trembling and  _thank god thank god thank god –_

Merle is the first to move, and to his infinite credit, he even manages to keep somewhat composed. He shifts forward, face carefully neutral, and checks Angus's pulse.

“His heartrate’s too low,” he declares. “And he’s cold as hell itself.” He sits back, looks at the three of them. “Well, come on now. Let’s get him warmed up.”

The words are like a spell, breathing movement back into their bones. Lup quickly casts Warmth over top of the room. Kravitz grabs a quilt from the sofa and carefully arranges it around Angus, delicate as a breeze, his undead hands never once touching skin. 

A pair of fingers snap in front of Taako's face.

He blinks. Merle hands him a pillow.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this one without working too,” Merle says, gruff. His eyes are wet. “Get the boy's feet up. He needs that circulation flowing.”

Taako nods, still numb, but moves to do as he’s told. He has to crawl. He doesn't think he can stand yet.

It's a moment's work, and when it's done, suddenly, Kravitz is sitting next to him on the floor. A second later, Lup joins them, bracketing him on either side.

He takes their hands. Or maybe they take his. He doesn’t know how long they stay there, but after a while, Lup’s rests her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickles his face. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. It feels wholly inadequate, but seems just about the only thing he can manage. He tells himself he'll have to remember to say again later. Probably every day for the rest of his life. “Thank you.”

In response, Lup's hand tightens in his.

They wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, I know. But y'all, real talk. Merle's character voice was probably the most fun to write of this entire fic? Why does he sound exactly like every dad ever???


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain cell: let's wait a little before posting the next chapter!!  
> Other, stronger brain cell: s e e k v a l i d a t i o n n o w
> 
>  
> 
> Also, to everyone who said they visualized Lup slam DUNKING Ango's soul back into his body............ Correct.

Awareness returns in waves.

First, it’s just sounds. Muffled movement and low voices.

Then, some indiscernible time later, feelings. An ache in his chest, a stiffness to his limbs. A chill like ice in his veins, bone-deep and weary.

He shifts, fingers curling against the cold. The voices might get louder, they might not. Everything still feels strange and far away, not quite real.

Then the memories hit, and those definitely are.

The punch of realization is like a physical thing, and in an instant its all flooded back - Asaph, the manor, the market, the ritual, the _knife –_

The voices spike, louder, closer –

“I think he’s –”

“Careful, don’t touch –”

_“Angus?”_

He gasps, vision razed with light. It hurts, he's surrounded by fire and it _burns –_

He twists away, eyes screwed shut, a strangled cry caught in his throat. Teeth clenched, he breathes through the pain, feels it lessen by degrees. After a moment, he feels something else too. The prod of fingers against his wrist, cool and gentle, soothing the fire.

A soft voice. “Angus?”

He cracks an eye, slowly this time. His vision is blurry, and bright enough to make him wince. He can just barely make out a familiar face above him. 

_Lup._

The relief is like a flood, dousing the flames and leaving him dizzy. If he were standing, he's certain he'd fall to his knees. She’s _okay._

He wants to cry, to shout, to jump up and wrap his arms around her. But all he can manage is a weak cough. His throat is coppery, slick with the taste of blood. He feels it splutter up over his lips.

There’s a flurry of movement. A cloth wipes his mouth, then careful hands lift his head, a glass tipped against his lips. He drinks greedily, water spilling down his chin, until someone eventually pulls the glass back.

“Geez kid, slow down.”

Angus rubs at his eyes, propping himself up on an elbow. Is that –

“Merle?” he croaks.

“We’re all here, Angus.”

He looks around, spotting Lup again. Next to her, Kravitz wears a watery smile, and next to him –

“Krav?” he whispers. “Lup?” _Taako?_

With flagging strength, he rises further, neck strained. The blanket covering him falls, and –

And –

Oh.

He stares.

That’s. That’s a lot of blood.

It covers his entire front, sticking like a second skin. Belatedly, he realizes it’s stained the blanket too. He should probably apologize for that. But.

But that’s a _lot_ of blood.

His chest is moving though. So that’s… good. It’s moving even faster now, each breath rattling out of him, each inhale like stab of pain.

He feels another touch on his wrist. He flinches, almost pulls away. But it’s just Taako, it’s just Taako, it’s okay, it’s just –

“Taako?”

The touch turns to a grasp, until Taako’s got both hands wrapped around his. “It’s okay, kiddo. Just breathe, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Angus nods. Just breathe, just breathe, just –

Taako seizes him in a fierce hug.

“S-Sir, the blood –” he tries to warn, but the words are lost as Taako envelops him in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay, you’re _okay._ ”

Trembling, Angus grasps him back. For a long time, neither of them move. There's a damp patch spreading over his shoulder, but by degrees, Taako's hitched breathing settles, and Angus feels himself slowly calming too. He's still shaking through. _Sh_ _ivering,_ he realizes. He's  _freezing._

Taako tears back. “Shit,” he swears. “Warm. We need to keep you warm.”

Lup's there in an instant. She pulls the blanket back up around him. “Just for now," he says. "We’ll get you cleaned up in a minute, okay?”

Angus nods, then holds still while Lup returns him his glasses. When he blinks open to sharpened vision, it's just in time to see both his dads swiping at their eyes. 

“We missed you so much,” Kravitz says. “You had us all really scared.”

“I was scared too,” Angus whispers. He swallows. “Is… Is he dead? A-Asaph? The man?”

Lup nods, squeezing his shoulder. “In the Stockade, exactly where he belongs. He’s not going anywhere.”

Angus’s vision swims again, and it takes him a moment to realize he's crying. He hangs his head, dizzy with... relief, he thinks. Maybe shame.

It doesn’t matter. It’s _over._ Asaph’s in the Stockade. Asaph’s dead. Asaph’s _gone._

“You were so brave," Lup says. "That was some real quick thinking back there."

“Now don't  _ever_ fucking do it again," Taako says.

“ _Please_ ,” Kravitz finishes.

Angus can’t help it—he laughs, the sound startling even himself. The others smile, the sight so familiar it _hurts_ , and it hits him then, just how long it's been since he last saw those expressions, just how much he  _missed them._ But they're here now, eyes soft and hearts tender, and they're together, and they're _safe,_ and –

And Angus feels his heart beat just a little bit happier, because he's with his family.

He's with his family.

Behind him, Merle clears his throat. Loudly. "So, uh. Anyone wanna tell me just what in the hell I missed?”

Angus laughs again, so loud now it hurts. A sharp ache pierces his chest, right where he buried the knife, but he laughs anyway. Laughs and laughs, until finally, the tears in his eyes aren’t from pain at all.


	22. Epilogue

A week later, when things finally begin to settle down, they throw a small party on the back patio. They’re making the best of the dwindling summer nights, celebrating Angus’s return—as Taako would say— _in style._

Some things haven't gone back to normal yet. Angus's chest still gets tight when he breathes too deep, a weight in his lungs like the sting of winter air. A chill seems to follow him wherever he goes, and he finds himself dragging out his autumn clothes from the back of the closet just so he can get some feeling into his fingertips. Merle cites poor circulation. Taako cites Merle's shitty healing. Angus, quietly, thinks it's more likely the fact that he was clinically dead for over 10 minutes.

There are other things too. He can hardly get a full night’s sleep, for one. He dreams of memories that don't belong to him, sees himself through eyes much older than his own. He gets dizzy or even nauseous if he thinks too hard about the Amalgamation, and can never quite find the words to explain what it felt like, even to himself. Even some things from before the Amalgamation feel a little off. No one corrects him, but Angus still catches the shared looks of concern between Taako and Kravitz when he misremembers a simple fact or recent memory. Once, and only once, he forgets to respond to his own name. 

Even so, he’s up early and in bright spirits to welcome everyone on the day of the party. They’ve invited all of their old friends from the Bureau, as well as anyone from their travels who didn’t actively try kill them - a criterion Taako made up, only to gleefully scratch Lucas’s name from the list.

Magnus arrives in his usual bluster, swooping in, teary-eyed, to lift Angus into a spinning hug. When his feet finally touch the ground, it’s only for a moment before Killian bursts through the door to do exactly the same, Carey quick on her heels, complaining, “Babe, it’s _my_ turn.”

Barry and Lup are fashionably late, of course, but they’ve been in and out of the house all week. They still grin wide to see him. Barry tousles his hair; Lup shoots him double finger-guns.

Lucretia, Avi, and even Ren are there. And to collective surprise, even Merle and his kids make an appearance. Mookie has to be reminded by almost every adult in the room not to roughhouse while Angus is still healing. Angus plays along anyway - he's seen how it makes Merle smile. 

Taako cooks an extravagant dinner, and afterwards, doles everyone out a mug of his homemade hot cocoa. They all agree—quietly, as not to hurt Taako’s feelings—that it’s good, but nowhere near as good as the cocoa at Meryl and Sheryl’s.

After dinner, Taako sequesters Ren away from the group, though not far enough for Angus to miss hearing: “So like, how crazy were the mobs when people found out I’d cancelled the tour?”

Ren laughs. “Actually, most people were pretty understanding.”

Taako sounds surprised. “Really?”

“Yep," she says. “Family emergencies, y’know? They really tug on the heartstrings.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, there’s a package at the front door. Inside is a carefully wrapped plate of chocolate chip cookies, still fresh, and a _thank you_ card marked for someone named Caleb.

Two neat signatures sit neat at the bottom of the card. One from Mrs. Hillwater, the other a small, inky pawprint.

 

* * *

 

Later that same day, Angus is resting in bed, a book balanced against his knees and a half-eaten plate of cookies on the table beside him. Taako came in to check on him earlier, and now he’s sprawled out across the duvet, bemoaning his boredom.

“Get better already,” he whines. “I wanna _do_ something.”

Angus grins. “Well, if you say so." He tosses the book aside and makes a show of throwing back the covers.

Taako twitches. “Hey! You sit down, little man!” He rolls onto his stomach, arms flopping over Angus’s legs to pin him still. “Geez, I was just kidding.”

Angus stifles a laugh, but does as he’s told, and Taako seems sated. He's quiet for a few minutes, gaze focused as he picks at loose threads in the blanket, so Angus returns to his book. But after a while his eyes start to glaze over the words. There’s something on his mind, a subject he’s been afraid to breach for the past few days. He’s grateful to have Taako around - insanely so, of course. But...

But part of him wonders if he's only staying out of guilt.

“Sir,” he says eventually, face hidden behind the book. “Do you… Do you think you’re going to go back on tour? I mean, the dates for the last few stops haven’t passed yet. You could still make it. And, you know, that way you wouldn’t be bored anymore.”

Taako looks up, fingers drumming against Angus’s knee, and lets out a long puff of air. It doesn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. It almost sounds like a laugh.

“Nah,” he drawls. “Taako’s good out here.”

Angus blinks. He peers out from behind the pages. "Really?"

“Yeah, I think I’m going to take some time off from the showbiz. At least for a while. I got this brilliant idea the other day to start spending more time with my family.”

“Oh?” Angus bites his lip to hide a grin. “Who gave you that idea?”

“Some dumb kid.” Taako shrugs, then quickly grabs a cookie and stuffs it into his mouth. Probably to stop himself from saying anything sappy. Well, sappi _er._

 

* * *

 

It’s a week later, so late the night is nearly bleeding into dawn. It's that strange, impossible long hour, when the world seems caught between two places, when everything feels soft and distant. They’re all three of them in Taako’s bed.

Taako flips through a magazine in the low light, but he’s not really reading it. He’s watching Kravitz, who’s watching Angus, nuzzled between them and fast asleep.

He’s been sleeping in their bed on and off; it with the nightmares. His _and_ theirs. It’s been quite tonight though, his breaths even and deep, face slack and peaceful.

It’s _nice_. Almost too nice for words, and Taako is suddenly struck with an absurd gratefulness for Kravitz's presence. He used to always be out working on nights like this, and rarely got to share these kinds of moments. But it almost seems to be a frequent occurrence these days.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “How come you’re never working anymore? Get fired or something?”

Kravitz quirks an eyebrow. “I think I'd call it more like vacation time."

“What, seriously? The Raven Queen does that now?"

He hums. “It was your sister’s idea, actually.”

Taako shakes his head, biting back a laugh. “Krav, I swear, one day your boss is going to stop owing us favours."

"I don't know," Kravitz leans in to steal a quick kiss. “Apparently she has a real soft spot for family."

 

* * *

 

The summer finally breezes to an end, the weather cooling with each passing week. It’s particularly cold today, the wind sharp across the open field. They’ve been walking a long time, and even several weeks after the fact, the ache in Angus's chest makes itself known.

He studiously ignores it, just like he ignores the cold. His nose is tucked beneath a scarf, a hat pulled low over his ears. Beside him, Taako dons a billowing cloak and long gloves. Angus’s feet scuff on the dirt as they walk, following a twisting path past rows and rows of identical stones, dotted with neat hedges and the occasional rose bush. They don’t stop until they find it.

Section 3, plot 116.

“We’re here,” Taako says.

Angus finally dares to look up.

It’s a nice enough spot. At the base of a small hill, not too far from the river. But the headstone is small and plain. A single slab of unpolished rock.

_Here lies Theodore McDonald._

Angus nods once and releases his white-knuckled grip around the bouquet. The flowers hit the dirt, limp, petals already browning. He stares at them hard. 

“Hi grandpa,” he whispers, barely louder than the breeze. “Sorry I didn’t visit.” He blinks, feels heavy tears slip down his face, and closes his eyes in a rush of shame. “Sorry I didn’t go to the funeral.”

Taako lays a careful hand on his shoulder. “Were you afraid of seeing your dad?”

It’s not really a question; they both already know the answer. Angus nods anyway, and adds, “And disappointing you."

Taako sucks in a sharp breath. It comes out unsteady. “Why?”

 “I didn’t..." He swallows, throat tight. "I didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful. For missing him, when I already had a new family.”

The grip on his shoulder goes rigid.

“Angus,” Taako breathes. “You don’t – There doesn’t need to be a _difference._ ”

He looks up. “What?”

“Between your old family and your new family,” Taako explains. His face is almost pained, desperate for Angus to understand. “There doesn’t need to be a difference.”

"But -" Angus shakes his head. "B-But, my father –"

“He doesn’t _count_ ,” Taako says. “People like him don’t get to count. You can – You can _choose,_ Ango. You get to decide who your family is. And if you want your grandpa to be a part of it, then I’m – Hell, kid, I’m all for it. Your family, my family, it’s all the same now, right? I mean that’s all life is, you know? Just adding to your family, making it bigger and better."

Angus thinks of an old house in the middle of the forest. He thinks of the thirty-four unmarked graves surrounding it. Thirty-four unmarked graves of people who were lonely, people who were desperate to be a part of something, to feel like they belonged, to feel like they had a family.

“So welcome to fam, grandpa,” Taako announces. He’s smiling now, not even bittersweet. _Really_ smiling. “What’s one more human, am I right? I mean, at this point I’ve already got a dwarven niece and nephew from Merle. And at least a _billion_ dog-children from Magnus.”

Angus breathes out a small laugh through the tears, and takes Taako's hand. He swears he him sniffle. 

They stay that way for a long time, Taako’s hand steady and warm in his, letting him know, _I’m right here._ Angus doesn’t speak, and Taako doesn’t rush him, and eventually, when he’s ready, they do so together, in step. 

The next time he visits, there are wreathes of flowers overflowing the plot, and a gleaming headstone in the center, newly transmuted by Taako himself.

 _Here lies Theodore McDonald,_ it reads. _Beloved by his family and friends._

 

* * *

 

The days bleed together. Angus seems better with each new dawn, and by the time school rolls around again, he looks ruddier, healthier. He’s even grown an inch. He’s more energetic—sleeping almost every night. Most importantly, he stops feeling so _damn_ cold all the time.

One Sunday, Taako catches him at the kitchen table before the sun had even risen _._

“Just finishing some homework,” he explains through a yawn. “I wanted to have a free day.”

Taako rolls his eyes but keeps any unsavory nicknames to himself. He’s really been working on his self-restraint these past few weeks, and rewards himself by downing three full mugs of coffee before he finally cracks his fingers and gets to work raiding the fridge. He preps a breakfast for three, then sets the table, purposefully knocking any and all textbooks aside.

Angus rolls his eyes—and _geez,_ wonder who he learned _that_ from—but doesn’t complain.

Kravitz joins them soon after, and there’s idle chatter while they eat. Eventually, Taako swallows and asks, “So, boy wonder, what were you hoping to do with the rest of this _free day?”_

Angus pokes the eggs around on his plate. Uh oh. That’s his thinking face.

“Well…" he says slowly. "I was actually thinking of checking up on some old unfinished cases. The ones I was working on before I – before Asaph.”

Taako chokes around a mouthful of toast. He and Kravitz share a look. Proud. Maybe a little worried.

Angus clears his throat. _Damn,_ he’s attentive. “I could always… use a little help?”

Kravitz breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“That so?” Taako asks, feigning disinterest, because he’s a _much_ better actor.

"There was this one break-in that had me really stumped.”

Alright. Taako drops the ruse and claps his hands together. This might actually be fun. “Tell me everything."

“It happened on Claire Street,” Angus gushes. “The victim was a wealthy councilwoman. She has lots of potential enemies, so there’s plenty of suspects! But…” he pauses, theatrical, just like Taako taught him. “—nothing was stolen!”

Taako gasps. “What a twist!”

Angus nods fervently. “I’ve been gone a long time. The leads have probably all dried up. This one’s gonna be tough!”

“Then let’s not waste any more time, fellow detectives,” Kravitz says.

“You mean we can go now?”

Taako laughs. “Hell yeah. Let’s go, little man.”

He and Kravitz share one last look. Yeah, Taako thinks, this is going to make a great story.

They set out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm so emo, you guys. I _know_ one day I'm going to look back on how proud I am right now and be suuuuper embarrassed, but right now that doesn't matter. I first came up with the idea for this fic on January 21, 2018. By March 3, I was ready to post the first chapter. And now, I'm posting the last. And maybe crying just a little. 
> 
> This is the first multi-chap I've ever actually managed to finish, and I sincerely hope it won't be the last. This fic helped me to learn more than I thought possible about my own strengths and weaknesses as a creative writer, challenged me, entertained me, and most importantly, helped me interact with you guys, my lovely readers. Whether you've been here since the beginning or just recently stumbled across this fic, I cannot thank you enough for your comments, kudos, and support. It has made this experience so so so worth it.


End file.
